Foxes

As I rounded one the many headlands on the coast in broad daylight many years ago, I came face to face with a fox.  For a few moments we stared at each other. I pondered the expression in his eyes, and neither of us knew what to do next, but he gave in, and quickly trotted off into the bracken. Looking wild animals in the eye may generate a response of indifference, curiosity, or fear. Only in our garden have I ever seen indifference in the eye of a fox.

I’m reminded of this encounter whilst talking to a friend today about a local man who seems to spend his life shooting foxes. I often hear the sound of a shotgun in the fields behind the cottage at night, and it usually means he’s out there with his shotgun. Since fox hunting was  abolished  a few years ago, I’ve read nothing of the predicted increase of foxes, which is understandable, since the ‘sport’ had little or no affect on their numbers.

Foxes visit our garden most evenings, and we often put out scraps for them, and if I turn on the light by the willow tree, I can marvel at their beauty and cunning. Top predators are important in any food chain, a point that our local shooter must fail to understand, and I do wonder why he does it.