This post is contributed by Barnaby Porter from his archives. Read the previous post here.
Photo: Old Huss
Every year there’s something. This year it’s foxes. I’ve never seen so many in my life.
Generally, I see them at dawn or dusk – fleeting glimpses of golden-red flashing across the road. Sometimes it’s just a pointy face with big ears, peering at me through the meadowsweet at the edge of the field. Or sometimes it’s a long shadow trotting down the road in the moonlight, silent, almost a figment of the imagination.
When I kept hens and a pair of geese, there was a family of foxes somewhere nearby. On a regular basis, Mr. Fox came stealing into the yard with his shopping list. I never heard a sound – only saw the fluff and feathers, traces of a quick struggle in the dust behind the hen house and the sagging hen wire where he’d vaulted over the fence before I woke. We lost six fat hens one spring, just like that.
Then there was the time a curious fox watched me for three days while I stripped my old dory down to bare wood and caulked and painted it. That fox simply sat in the backyard and watched me through the barn door. And our old mother cat, Crocus, watched back, her plump figure crouched in the doorway. The two creatures, domestic and wild, must have had private thoughts of their own, but they kept them to themselves, and I just went right on working on my dory.
This year is different somehow. Foxes are everywhere. Folks are talking about them, and there is some concern over the possibility of a rabies outbreak. It’s been hot and dry. Some of the foxes I see are mangy and distracted-looking. One I see daily around my shop is plagued by flies and fleas, stopping every few feet to scratch and roll in the grass.
My old dog, Hussy, sleeping in the shade of my truck, never sees him, even though he shows up half a dozen times a day, close by and sure of himself… until the other day. On that occasion, she happened to spy him skirting the edge of my field, looking for voles. Now, she’s an old dog, twelve almost, and her figure is on the matronly side (too many treats from the neighbors). She has a touch of arthritis too – has to be helped into the truck on bad days. But she saw that fox working his way through the tall grass when he jumped up to pounce on a vole. And something stirred in her… and she was OFF!
Old Huss somehow summoned a degree of power and speed she (and I) didn’t know she had in her. She tore after that fox like a freight train. Hay chaff and daisies went flying in her wake. Her claws dug for traction and tossed clods of turf into the air as her blonde bulk hurtled down toward the alders.
The fox couldn’t help noticing of course. Between the growl loosed from the old dog’s jaws and the haymaking commotion barreling toward him, there was no question he better do some quick thinking. Which he did!
Like the flight of an arrow, his red coat streaked up across my neighbor’s back field. When Huss reached the spot where she first spied her quarry, he was already two or three towns away – fear and plain common sense propelling him into the far distance like a missile. She sniffed around a bit, then trotted back to the shade of my truck. So much for foxes. They’re rather abundant this year.
Artist and author Barnaby Porter has had a varied career in marine research, aquaculture, and woodworking, among others. Most recently he partnered with his wife Susan as co-owners of the Maine Coast Book Shop & Cafe in downtown Damariscotta. In October 2021, Barnaby completed his tenure on Coastal Rivers’ Board of Trustees after six years of service.
Image courtesy of Barnaby Porter
