July : the Foxes

Here come the foxes.

A small vixen and two cubs, maybe three. The cubs are tiny and red-gold. Past the newborn stage but no bigger than kittens.

Tonight I’ve left them a can of cat food and some bread scraps. A treat. I don’t feed them regularly because they have to learn to find food for themselves. They say that urban foxes are better fed than those living in the country. I don’t know if that’s true or just speculation.

The vixen, with dark ears and forelegs, waits with one cub on the side of the raised border, opposite the house. She darts out under the flowering cherry tree, grabs 2-3-4 corners of bread in her jaws and scoots off with her cub in pursuit. The second cub, bolder, comes and feasts on the cat food, leaving the bread. It is very confident but pauses to check for sounds. A small copy of its Mum, doing what it has watched her do.

The vixen returns and snatches up the last crust, then all four run off at high speed towards the top garden?, under the Dome?, or to one of the many fox friendly spots in the garden.

It’s a luxury and a privilege to be able to watch them so closely. It fills me with joy and wonderment, and it is so tempting to feed them regularly just so I can enjoy this moment. A temptation to be avoided for their sakes.