Before we get into this, fair warning—if you have a hard time with the realities of the circle of life, you probably want to stop reading now. Also, you should stop eating food of any type at all. After all, we’ve recently learned that plants literally scream when they are cut or pulled, meaning that mowing the lawn is unimaginable mass torture, and harvesting fruit is dismembering plants.
A couple of weeks ago, before snow blanketed the ground, I was out back with the dogs and noticed a large smattering of feathers near our air conditioner. This has happened periodically over the years, and we’ve seen coyotes and fox in our yards at times. Not terribly surprising to see evidence of predation. I also once encountered a headless rabbit (probably stashed by a hawk) and saw a hawk kill a mouse on our porch.
As you know from part 1, our shed out back had become a thing for the dogs, particularly when we were heading out to hike. On Friday, Valentine’s Day, we had what started out as a repeat performance of the Jailbreak. Dobby went bananas around the shed, Benny followed suit, Bowie did as well. In this case, Dobby was off leash because I had let him run back home near the end of our hike, which he usually does without issue (and I had forgotten about the shed being a thing).
Once again, I had to let go of Benny or risk losing a limb. But unlike last time, Benny did not dash away. Instead, he kept circling the shed and digging around it, while Dobby did the same. Still on a leash, Bowie pulled me over to the shed and tried to crawl under it. Frustrated, I hauled him up to the house and shouted at Lucia that Benny and Dobby were off leash and obsessing over the shed. She came to help, and we both headed down to the shed. For a moment, Benny disappeared. I assumed he had gone into the woods, so I started up the trail. Then I saw him emerge from the woods, his back turned to me, Dobby next to him as his sidekick.
“They’re out here,” I called to Lu. I started after them, calling to them and telling them to come back. Lu cut through a thicket and started on the trail.
Benny paused to look at me, and that’s when I saw it.
“Holy @#$!,” I hollered to Lu. “Benny has a @#$!-ing fox in his mouth!”
“What?!”
“It’s dead!”
“Did he kill it?” Lu yelled.
“He must have because it’s limp and flopping around. It’s not frozen, and there’s no rigor mortis. Benny, get over here!”
This began a slow chase through the woods. I would get close, and Benny would become convinced I was going to take his prize and trot further into the woods. Finally, I realized that scolding wasn’t working. So I started yelling, “Good boy, Benny! Great job! Let’s show your present to mom!”
In the video that follows, you can see that Benny is finally headed back home. And if you turn the sound on, you can hear that Lu is not thrilled with me telling Benny that he had done a great job.
Dobby, of course, had to be in the center of all this.
What then followed was a flurry of activity. Our friend Garrett checked out a picture and said the fox probably had mange and the dogs could use a bath. A call to the vet netted a $150 appointment for a rabies booster. Brayden called a taxidermist about preserving it as a trophy of “my boy’s first hunting kill.” Ultimately, he decided the mange possibility ruled that out, and we left the fox in the wilderness for the elements.
The afternoon brought an odd postscript. I was downstairs getting ready for a big meeting with my company’s new CEO when Benny and Dobby started barking madly at the sliding glass door. Probably a squirrel, I thought. But they kept at it, and Benny started hopping around. Finally, I stood and looked at the shed. I caught a glimpse of Bowie just as he lowered himself and disappeared under the shed. WTF!
“Bowie just crawled under the shed!” I bellowed to Lu and Lauren. “How did he get out?”
Apparently, the door to the garage had not been fully closed, it slipped open, and Bowie got out.
I had to get on my belly, and when I did, I found myself almost nose to nose with Bowie who seemed perfectly content in the cold dirt and tight space. I grabbed his paw, got him partly pulled out, and then got his collar to get him the rest of the way. Then I picked up the fifty-pound dog, tucked him under my arm, and hauled him to the house.
RIP to the red fox who can hang with the bird friends he consumed.
His Smile Lit Up a Room and Other Things to Say at My Funeral 