Outfoxed

CHAPTER 25

Aunt Netty ducked into Target’s den, as hers was a half mile farther on. She’d carried her booty long enough.

“A feast!” Charlene sank her fangs into a limp wing.

“You should have seen Alice Ramy, the sow,” Aunt Netty crowed in triumph. “If I were bigger I’d break her neck, too.”

Reynard, Charlie, Grace, and Patsy ate in respectful silence as the adults discussed corn, oats, and mice.

“The gleanings are especially good down by Whiskey Ridge,” Target said.

“It’s good everywhere. A perfect year. Oats, rye, corn, barley, fat mice, fatter rabbits.” Aunt Netty lived to eat. “Even my useless husband mentioned it the other day.”

“I haven’t seen Uncle Yancy since July,” Charlene noted.

“I hardly see him myself, which I consider a benefit,” his wife remarked. “He’s spent most of the summer down at Wheeler Mill studying the wheels and the raceway. He likes to talk to the foxes down there, reds, you know. Yancy feels that he can prove all mammals descend from a great prehistoric fox. He says birds come from flying reptiles, so we have nothing in common with them, but all mammals come from the original fox.”

“Even humans?” Reynard wondered.

“Yes. They’re more closely related to us than we’d like, but better to be close to a human than an armadillo, I suppose.”

Grace, the image of her mother, put her paw on a piece of flesh because Charlie was inching toward her. “Does that mean we’ll build machines?”

“I don’t follow, dear.” Aunt Netty, full, stretched out on her side.

“If we’re related to humans will we build machines like they do?” Grace slapped her brother, who put his nose too close to her portion of chicken.

“Gracious, no. Machines dull your senses. We’d never be so foolish.” Netty laughed. “That’s what’s wrong with them. They get further and further away from nature. Yancy says there was a time when they had better eyes and ears than they do now. He said once humans could even smell game. If they keep on the way they’re going, they’ll even lose their sense of direction. Yancy says millions of them live in cubicles stacked on top of one another. Seems impossible but he says he’s seen it on television.”

“Where does he watch television?” The patriarch of this family joined the conversation.

“Doug Kinser. Yancy sits on the window ledge and watches the eleven o’clock news.”

“Why bother? It’s only about them.” Charlene shrugged.

“Yancy says you never know when they’re going to do something stupid like build a dam. Affect all of us. Even St. Just.”

“I’ll snap his neck yet.” Target’s eyes lit up. “He’s worthless.”

“Worthless but smart. He won’t be satisfied until he sees you dead.” Aunt Netty lifted her head. “Children, take the chicken outside. Help your mother clean up this den.”

Patsy, the quiet one, whispered, “Dad, how can a blackbird kill a fox?”

“Can’t.” Target swished his tail around.

“He can lead the hounds to you, Target. Pride goeth before a fall,” Netty warned.

“I’ll get him before he gets me.”

As the young foxes gathered up the debris of their meal, Aunt Netty scolded: “What are you all doing here, anyway? You should be in your own dens.” Her speech was clipped. “Charlene, you spoil these children. Why, the grays are already in their new homes, even that little black thing. She has a pretty face. She’ll need it with that black coat.”

“Who cares what the grays do?” Reynard, parroting his father, said.

“I do. They aren’t stupid, you know.” Netty, who’d seen a lot in her day, couldn’t help but sound superior. “They’ve taken the good new dens near the cornfields. Makes it that much harder for you. You should have found a place last week.”

“I’ll chase one out and take his den,” Reynard bragged.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” Aunt Netty had no time for youthful folly. “Opening hunt is not but ten days away. You’d better get yourself situated.”

“We can dust those guys.” Charlie, the good-natured son, laughed.

“And so you can but what if you duck in a den and find Comet there? He’s a young gray but he’s tough, very tough, just like his father. You’ll have a fight on your paws and hounds at your heels. Prepare now.” Having imparted enough wisdom for one day, Netty closed her eyes, curling her tail around her nose.

Charlie picked up a drumstick; Reynard, some feathers. Grace batted the neck around and Patsy picked up the backbone. They walked outside, scattering the bones. The sun filtered through the trees.

“Why do they start formal hunting in early November?” Grace asked.

“Because we’re looking for dens. They’ll get better runs. That’s what Mom says,” Charlie answered.

“It’s because there’s frost on the ground. Usually. The first frost comes around the middle of October but some years not until later. By November the frost is here until April. Scent holds,” Patsy said.

“Maybe it’s both things.” Grace walked toward the creek. She liked to watch the fish. She’d seen bear catch them and she thought if a dumb bear could do it, she could do it.

Reynard dashed by her. Charlie ran after him. Patsy bumped into Grace just to hear her squeal. A perfect October day was meant for play. They could worry about hunting later.