Elegy for a Fox

As you scouted for a place to dig a den
To hole up for the winter with your vixen
I felt your presence in among the trees
Before I saw your tawny fur
Bobbing through the woods
In a leisurely manner
On a course designed to intercept me

And there at the boundary
Of some human notion of property
Marked by a line of Norway pines
You emerged a few feet away from me

With a bit of alarming eye contact
You followed me as I stepped back
And you smiled with a smile that said, “Hello.”
As I fumbled with a fallen steel fence post
Still wired to its half-buried neighbor
Quickly dropped in favor
Of a more accessible piece of wood
That I hoped would help me defend my honor
Against such a bold, if diminutive, predator

I made a relatively orderly retreat
Brandishing my weapon threateningly
As you continued to escort me
Seemingly unconcernedly
Keeping a semi-respectful distance
Of detente an uneasy dance

I tried not to stumble over broken glass
Backing my way across the abandoned parking lot
Reached the sidewalk
Paused
Weighing options of fight or flight
As you sat on your haunches and yawned

As I stepped back over the curb my heart pounded
For the sidewalk was a corridor by fences bounded
And if you followed me in there it would be tight
I might have to strike
You might have to bite

But you watched me a bit quizzically
Following with your gaze but not physically
And although I was no longer tense
I was left with a feeling of impotence
That I had let you intimidate me
Assertive yet diplomatic creature
Your beautiful coat and unique features
Your stinging dismissal with a yawn

I looked for you daily on my walk from the train
And I saw you now and again
Hunting by yourself or with your vixen
Hunting the poor voles to extinction

Tipped by coworkers, I’d give pursuit
With my camera, and sometimes get a shot
Though you would escape as often as not
There was the time you turned by the tracks
(You took some steps forward, I took a few back)
While from the sky fell the first flakes of snow

You in the meadow with your nose
Furtively searching for rodent prey
Native Americans and others say
Your meaning is of focus and purpose
A sign one is going the right way
People say your fur is gorgeous
And I must agree

In winter I never saw you, though
Your footprints in the snow
Crisscrossed back and forth over the tracks
Where the trains go so fast

I feared for your safety
As you continued relentlessly
To provide for your new family
Who waited underground for spring

After the snow melted
Reports came to me of your kits at play
In the grass between the warehouses
But I never saw them and was later dismayed
As I walked to work from the morning train
On a cold and rainy day in May
To find that as across the road you strayed
By some speeding vehicle you had been slain

You were indeed completely flattened
With one forlorn ear still raised
On the edge of your remains
I recognized you by the pattern
Of black spots on your pelt
Still visible even though
You looked much more
Like a rug than a fox

I felt sorry you were gone
Your surprise demise
Seemed, to me, wrong
And unfair as this world
As much yours as mine
That you should go while I remain

As I passed you, day by day
And you slowly melted away
I continued with my own life
There being nothing else I could do
Certainly nothing I could do for you

In this state
Your body was an effective prompt
To always look both ways
And avoid impromptu crossings of highways

Yours was a life in focus
An example shown us
Serving to educate
Of acceptance of responsibility
And devotion to family
One can only admire
And could do worse than aspire
To emulate


My friend and coworker, David, brought back reports of seeing a fox on the walk he took daily at lunch time. Stories from other coworkers came of cornered foxes attacking people in their gardens a few towns away. There was a sense of danger that some took seriously and others laughed off.

I was very curious. I had seen small canine tracks all winter and a marked decrease in rabbit tracks. It occurred to me that I had not seen any bunnies in a while. Not long after that, as the leaves were turning to the vivid colors of autumn, the fox in the above poem intercepted me and seemed to escort me from the premises in a firm but reasonably courteous manner.

Searching online, I learned the foxes dig dens in which to pass the winter and birth their young. I thought that my fox was probably looking for a place to dig such a den when we had our encounter, but I read that it is the vixens who dig the dens whereas my antagonist was a male.

After our encounter, I saw the fox again several times at a more comfortable distance and had the opportunity to take the photos you see here.

It was no challenge to take the photo of the last bit of the fox’s pelt that remained for weeks after the rest of him was gone.