Body Of A Light Brown Fox

Dog scuffles the lane, looking for the pale fox; the almost strawberry blonde fox; that stopped and stared at us last time we walked here. After assessing the situation fox decided to skittle up through the undergrowth. Dog gets twig-tangled trying to recreate the scene. I call her back and unpick a half metre of hawthorn from her tail. She darts into the quarry in case fox is digging an escape tunnel. She runs round and round, in constant motion like a river, the spaniel embodiment of an eddying river. 
At first I think there is a pile of fluff at the field gate. It is the body of a light brown fox. An intact forepaw reaches out, as though it had one clever line to die with, and needed to still the audience. The rest of it is a city of maggots. I’m fascinated by the commute lines that wriggle the length of an exposed rib; by the patterns of undulations as they swiftly recycle the fox flesh. We walk on; Dog keeps up the scuffling. 

Until stilled at home, wondering where the fox went.


Teresa Cypher said…
Nice post. I think you have more foxes there than we have here across the pond. To see a fox is rather rare in my part of the world. It sounds like you are getting to know your knew turf--as is dog--and dog enjoys it much--with the exception of that wiley fox that seems to get away :-)
Lisa Southard said…
We have oodles of foxes here, not always a good thing- one has recently nipped off with two of next door's chickens. Dog is entranced by them. Loving my new turf!
Suze said…
'the spaniel embodiment of an eddying river.'

Instantly present, Lils. Gorgeous hit coming out of the gate.

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