| The Fox |
 |
| Rumble went my stomach. No food for three days was too long. The kits were complaining and Mrs. Fox, who was testy at best, refused to let me in the den last night. I trotted swiftly along through the field and dashed among the bushes that lined the yard of the best chicken place in town. The meat was always young and tender, just the way Mrs. Fox likes it for the kits. Best of all, catching it was easy. The stupid birds made a lot of noise, but they had no sense when it came to getting away from me. “Squawk all you want,” I declared, “You will soon be quiet enough.” My mouth watered at the thought of one of those plump juicy morsels between my jaws. My belly gurgled loudly. Maybe, I will take three: one for me, one for the Mrs. and one for the little ones. Hey, wait a minute! I froze half out the bushes. An unusual lump lay directly in my path. It looked like a dog. The wind was blowing toward him, surely he smelled me. I turned, my eyes, but remained motionless. Since when did a dog live here? My stomach growled suddenly. I watched the mound of brown fur warily. There was no movement. Was it dead? Very cautiously, I crept closer and sniffed the air. The beast was still down wind so I couldn’t get a scent. I drew closer, still no response. I had never tasted dog before; maybe it tasted like chicken? I was practically next to the thing and just as I was about to stick my nose closer, and he moved. I was so startled I must have jumped fence high. My heart leapt in my chest. Visions of vicious teeth tearing my precious brown hide flashed through my mind. I raced forward, over the dog, across the open yard, under the nearest bush, and out into the field. No chicken tonight, I thought as I ran for my life. The Mrs. is just going to have to be content with a rabbit. At least, hunting rabbits does not involve saber-toothed dogs. |
|