Mrs. Fox has moved her family to a safer location. Our front stoop. This morning, after a 6 AM ghost call (stupid fat butts secretly dialing our house!) I spent a lovely hour watching the Fox family scamper and frolic in the snow-dusted lawn. Actually, I think they were looking for food. Shortly after I took up my vigil, one of the babies brought a suspiciously bunny-like object to the den and snarled at the other two as they tried to convince her to share. Apparently, sharing is not a fox-like moral. There is now a bright red something outside the den, about the size of, oh, a bunny organ. Looks like I’ll have to send the kids to school via the garage door to avoid any unpleasant conversations. “Mommy, why is there a beating heart in our yard?”
The fox children also had found a long rope and had carried it partially into the den. Foxes, like my children, don’t put away their toys.
We’re keeping the new den location a secret from Curious 4 year old and her sisters. They wouldn’t be able to help themselves. They’d tunnel under the front stoop and try to curl up with Cuddly Fox Family. I have a feeling Mama Fox would not like that idea.
I’ve become strangely protective of the foxes. I get nervous when the youngsters go bounding out of the gate without checking for dangers, like cars or neighbors with shotguns. And I’ve had to remind myself over and over that feeding them would not do them any favors. “These are wild foxes, not eager-but-nasty geese,” I tell myself. “If you want them to survive, they’ve got to learn how to hunt. Cans of tuna fish will not magically appear once they move to a less concrete, more tree-like home.”
Before you chastise me for anthropomorphizing, I’ve researched foxes. They are not fond of human baby yummies, although they have been known to take a cat if very very hungry. They are rabies carriers, but if you catch it in time, it’s only one shot, so I’m not concerned. (That was tongue in cheek, CPS.)
After they move away, which they will in a few months, maybe they’ll come back to visit. Maybe I can be Grandmother Fox, doling out deer-heart cookies and piggy back rides. Gotta get my love somehow.