The Fox and the Vixen

Once upon a time, there was a fox who had fallen for a red-haired vixen at first sight – she was young and frolicking in the tall grassy meadow. The little white tip of her tail gave her away when she thought she was hiding, readying herself to pounce. She was mesmerizing to him.

Through spring, summer and into fall, he watched her play and turn her nose up at other admirers. With hope in his heart, the harvest sun warming his back, and the crisping leaves bristling in the breeze, he laid down on a smooth rock and fell asleep.

“Wake up,” said the velvety voice. “Come hunt with me.” Much to his surprise, there sat his vixen, nudging him with her paw. She sauntered away from him, coaxing him with a backwards glance and a flick of her tail.

They hunted together daily that season, tumbling and toying with each other as young lovers often do until one late fall evening as orange light bounced off the first snow of the season when neither fox nor vixen saw the trap ahead. The clawed trap snapped onto her hind leg, breaking it instantly and sending her into a frenzy of pain-filled barks and cries.

The fox dug at the trap’s stake, but the stake was deep and the earth was hard. For two days, he hunted their breakfast before he dug at the stake. For three nights, he slept at her side to keep her warm. But on that third day, his passion powered his paws to dig relentlessly at the stake, and it came free.

“Can you walk, my dear?” he asked, panting. “Can you make it between those trees?” She stood and hobbled on three legs as he nudged the heavy trap with his nose from behind.

Oh, how she cried when the trap pulled on her leg, but just when the vixen was about to give up, the clever fox leapt over the trap, between two trees and landed on her. The pair rolled together, and when they stopped, the fox laid her head gently down on the earth.

“Ah!” she cried. “Why did you do that?”

“Look,” he said. “You’re free.” She saw that he was right. The trap was still stuck between the trees, but her broken leg was free. He knew, however, she would never hunt again.

“You know,” she said at last, “my mother always told me the world always finds a way, and she was right. The world gave me you.”

Slowly, but together, they made their way back to their den. The vixen filled her days readying the den for winter, gathering firewood and making her bed for the birth of their kits while fox hunted for game.

As luck would have it, winter came in with an arctic ferocity. The berries died early, the snow accumulated quickly, and tracks were scarce. They became poor and hungry. The three kits took turns without dinner.

As the heart of winter approached, ice spread over the lands, over the waters, and over the door to the den. For three days and nights, each of them took turns blowing hot air on the crack in the door to melt the ice that had locked it shut. They were starving.

“We can’t go on like this,” the fox told his wife.

“The world will find a way,” she replied.

On the fourth day, the door opened and the fox was able to hunt.

“I’m not coming home without enough spoils to last us through another storm. It may not be tonight, but I will return,” he said to her and off he went into the snowy forest.

But the vixen was worried. She sat in her chair and taught the pups to read and to sing and to learn their barks. She boiled soup for lunch, which was nothing more than water with a single bone and last of the fall spices.

“No dinner tonight I’m afraid, but don’t worry. Dad will return soon with a feast for us all.”

The pups drank their soup and curled up near the fire. As their tummies growled louder, the vixen grew weary. Not her sewing, nor cleaning, nor singing could distract her from the grumbling from their bellies echoing in her ears.

She went to the window to look at the stars when she saw her neighbor the beaver hanging fish on the line outside her dam.

“The world will provide,” she thought with a sigh, and she turned out her light and went to her chair by the fire. She dozed off to sleep, and dreamt of cool water beneath her paws and the taste of fresh fish on her lips. When she woke up, her own stomach was pained with hunger. She could take it no more! She kept out the light, crept out the door and into the night.

Vixen hobbled slowly to the line of fish and took down two: just a few bites for her and enough for the kits. The snow fell around her as she sunk her teeth into the salty crunch of the scales. Back to her den she returned and woke her pups with the smell of trout simmering on the fire.

“But where did it come from?” the smallest pup asked.

“Ummm,” vixen started, paws curling around, with a glance through the window to beaver’s moonlit dam. “Kits, I did something bad. I borrowed from beaver last night without her permission.”

The cubs gasped. “You stole it?” said one between bites.

“Sh! I’m not proud, but we mustn’t tell fox when he comes home that we didn’t wait for him to return. We must make him feel proud for his big hunt,” she told the pups as they, regardless, enjoyed their late dinner. They all fell back asleep with full(er) stomachs than before.

When the sun peaked over the horizon and through the crack in the door, the vixen awoke with a start. “What have I done? I stole from my neighbor! I have to explain!” she thought. She got up from her chair and crossed to the window only to see the brown bear who kept peace in their woods talking to beaver. The vixen just knew it was about the fish because even in the animal world, stealing was illegal.

“The tracks,” she thought. “The tracks will lead them right to me! Oh, what did I do?” She thought it best to face the consequences alone and opened the door. She was delighted to see, however, that the snow fell so thick in the night that there were no tracks at all, but vixen waited for brown bear to leave before waddling for a visit.

“Hello, neighbor,” said beaver to vixen. “Can you believe this? Robbed in the middle of the night.”

“I’m sure it was for good reason,” offered vixen.

“What good reason could there be to steal from another? I can see no good reason. They have legs to hunt just the same as me. I have to eat also!”

Seeing that she would get no forgiveness for her hunger, vixen returned home to tell the kits they must not speak of it.

“So no breakfast?” one pup asked.

“No, dear, but I’m sure fox will be home before we know it with lunch.”

“But we’re hungry now and beaver still has fish on the line. Couldn’t we just ask this time?”

“No, we will not. And stay away from beaver. She’s not our friend nor a very nice neighbor.”

But fox did not return for lunch or for dinner. And while the pups tried to distract themselves from their hunger, their barking tummies demanded attention.

“I can hunt birds,” offered the biggest of the pups. “Please?”

“What kind of mother would I be if I let you out to hunt at your age? The vultures would eat you first. The world will provide, you will see.”

But nighttime came and fox still did not return. Vixen scooted her chair back away from the pups to sleep, but she could almost feel their stomachs rumble on the hard floor, so she paced. Every time she passed by her window, the white-blue moon reflected light off the scales of the fish, calling her, tempting her. Her mouth watered with want and before she knew it, she was out the door and crossing the snow.

Again she stole fish and again she fed the pups. The next morning, however, there was a knock at the door.

“Did you steal my fish?” beaver demanded at sight of vixen. “Your paw prints are seen clear across to my line.”

“No, I shooed the rascal away with my broom. He was trying to steal all the fish from your line, but I stopped him all right. I stopped him just in time.”

“Oh, thank you, good neighbor. He only got two. Keep an eye out tonight; your dinner might be next in his sight!”

Oh, how vixen hoped fox would return, but the day dragged on and the bright sunshine gave way to a dark cloudy sky. The storm blew biting air straight through their fur, and vixen knew that her fox would have to find shelter tonight. She readied the pups for bed, but couldn’t shake the temptation of trout from her head.

“I wish beaver would just put it away, take the fish from the line, and I wouldn’t be tempted; we’d be just fine!” thought vixen. But again as she sat alone in the dark, she couldn’t sleep or read or sew not one stitch. Her mind was fixated on the taste of the fish.

She crept out in the wind and across her yard, sickle in hand when beaver popped out from behind her fence.

“Aha! It was you!”

But in startled fright, vixen stabbed beaver with all her might.

When the warm blood slipped onto her paw, vixen realized she had a new problem on her hands. But where do you hide a beaver? Certainly not at home with young pups to ask questions. So vixen dragged beaver back into her dam, and went to work on her plan.

The next morning, the pups rose to a wonderful smell of stew on the stove.

“Did you go hunting?” asked one as she slurped her soup off her spoon.

“The world has a way of providing. And it turns out the world provided us a good neighbor,” said vixen. “The storm drove beaver farther up the river, so she left us the fish on her line and the meat in her kitchen.”

The vixen and her pups feasted and napped most of the day, but just when she was bringing the last of beaver’s meat to her den, brown bear showed up.

“I’m sorry to tell you,” he said, “but fox has been shot. You should come claim his pelt and lay him to rest.”

Her chin quivered, her tears streamed as she told the kits.

“You’re strong now,” brown bear told them. “Three hunters are better than one. Watch after each other and you’ll do fine.” With that, vixen kissed them goodbye, and hopped on to the bear’s back.

It wasn’t until they were a long way from the den that vixen thought she should ask, “From which fencepost exactly did you say he was hanged?”

“Is that what I said?” the bear growled. “I meant to say I saw your attack, but lucky for you I needed a nap so I let you feed your pups, you murderous thief.” No sooner had he snarled his last word did the brown bear snatch the vixen by the paw and throw her against a tree. He had her by the throat when with her last noiseless breath, what did she see but her fox pulling a makeshift sled with a large bag of food, heading back to their den.