The Fox Cub Bold (6 page)

They both slept the clock round until the welcome dusk once again folded them in its soft blanket of concealment. Shadow set off as usual in her quest for food. She had not travelled far when she saw, to her astonishment, her three youngsters in the distance apparently on a search. They greeted her delightedly and immediately wanted to know all about Bold.

‘It’s going to be a longer job than I’d hoped,’ she told them.

‘We’ve hidden some food for you a short way back,’ said one of the males. ‘Where do we bring it to?’

Shadow explained and they trotted off to fetch the supplies. On their return they found their parent running towards them in consternation. ‘He’s gone!’ she cried. ‘Bold has disappeared!’

Bold had watched Shadow set off on her foraging with misgiving. He hated his position of reliance on another. The very thing he had revelled in before – his complete independence – had been completely destroyed. And now, because of his uselessness, he was subjecting another creature to risks he had no right to expect her to share. She – and the crow – had saved him from death. The debt was paid. So, soon after her back was turned, he hauled himself carefully to his feet. His long sleep had refreshed him and he was able to limp out of sight, round the other side of the thickets.

Bold was not sure what to do next. All that he knew was that he would no longer expose Shadow to the danger of being in his company. If possible, he would make his own slow way to the pheasant coverts and the refuge of her set, and if not . . . so be it! His only concern was that she might come looking for him, but he hoped that she would eventually have the sense to make ground to her own home before dawn threatened. He set his immediate sights on reaching the nearest farmed field. This lay on the other side of a hedgerow which formed the border between farmland and the open country. He knew Shadow would never search for him in such a place.

The darkness, at least, obscured his intentions from her as he staggered into the gloom. It was a cold, starlit night without a breath of air and the frosty grass made a crisp whispering noise as he trod it underfoot. The spectral form of a Barn Owl glided over his head on its silent wings. He saw it hover over the hedgerow, then swoop down, pounce, and rise again almost in one uninterrupted movement. So there was food there too! Perhaps he would be lucky enough to kill something
himself
for a change, if he did not set himself too distant a target.

Bold’s damaged leg had loosened up slightly during his recent bouts of enforced exercise and he was surprised – and pleased – at the way he managed to keep going. His exhaustion the previous night had largely been due, he decided, to clambering in and out of the ditch. Now he began to hope that he might be over the worst.

As the first faintly perceptible lightening of the sky heralded the end of the night, Bold lurched into the hedgerow. It was made up of a thick band of closely-knit vegetation that was a perfect resting-place, and here he was to have his first piece of good luck for days. He discovered another fox’s abandoned earth, and inside it were the remains of numerous catches. Stale and smelly though they were, the famished Bold made a hearty meal. Used to poor fare for so long, it was the closest thing to a feast for him since the last pheasant. So, replete and well content, he gratefully fell into a much-needed sleep.

The next day he awoke before the light had faded and immediately finished off the last few scraps. He left the earth and looked out across a field sown with swede. Here was another food source that he could use in necessity, for the young vegetables were just beginning to thrust themselves out of the soil. Bold’s spirits rose considerably. He felt stronger, more hopeful than he had been for a long time. Now, if he could only prove to himself he could still catch his prey – no matter how insignificant – then he really would feel he was on the road to recovery. There would be no need then for Shadow’s set or her ministrations.

Bold set himself to explore the hedgerow and its occupants. Songbirds returning to their roosts fluted and warbled amongst the remaining November greenery. There were inviting rustlings amongst the twigs and dead leaves underfoot. A squirrel raced along the top of the shrubbery like a furry goblin, intent on finding a safe perch to enjoy a hazel nut. Bold slunk along with his uneven gait, ears cocked, nose working overtime to identify every new scent. He stopped dead as he spied a vole squatting on a low twig, balancing on its hind legs while it examined some bryony berries. It was at eye level and well within reach. The fox crept forward another couple of centimetres, holding his bad leg out of the way. The vole remained unaware of his presence. Another centimetre. And another. Snap! Bold’s jaws caught on the little beast’s tail as it leapt for safety. His grip was not good enough and his lunge forward from three legs tilted him off balance. He went sprawling at the hedge bottom and the vole escaped with no more than a painful nip and a fright. Bold rose and shook himself, ashamed of his indignity. Once again, as in the incident with the dormouse, his ability to catch even small prey had been found lacking. The resulting loss of confidence made him unwilling to test his technique again. To be bested by such tiny creatures! It was mortifying to him. He stared across at the field of young swedes. That was to be the limit of his expectations now, For, with a bitterness born of his incapacity, Bold knew he could never again hunt live prey.

He limped out of the hedgerow towards the root crop sown by Man. It was simple to scratch up the ripening tubers and then to fill his belly with the sweetest of them. The added satisfaction that arose from raiding a food supply of the humans made them taste the sweeter. It was Man that had brought him to this low point and he would avenge himself where he could. Suddenly Bold stopped munching and stood motionless. Yes! That was his future now! The humans would be made to pay for his injury. Wherever they stored food or left edibles lying around he, the fox cub Bold, would capitalize upon it. Men would provide him with the food they had deprived him of catching himself.

Sustained by this promising and daring idea, Bold finished his supper and retired to the earth in the hedgerow to mull it over. It was an excellent plan that would require a mixture of caution and courage, he decided. He was no longer in a position to challenge Man by daylight for he had no turn of speed. His movements must therefore be strictly during the dark hours. So when night fell on his meditations, he issued forth for a second raid on the vegetable field.

As he went about his task, feeling more light-hearted now in the new role he had assumed for himself, he became aware of a ghostly shape moving about on the far side of the field. He hobbled hopefully towards it. To his delight he found Shadow the she-badger enjoying the same tasty roots. As he approached she looked up in alarm and prepared for flight.

‘Wait!’ he called to her. ‘It’s Bold! Your friend!’

Shadow paused and waited for the fox to come up. ‘Alas,’ she said, ‘we badgers don’t have your keen sight, otherwise . . . But I’m glad to see you!’ she finished enthusiastically. ‘We’d given you up for lost.’

Bold explained the reason for his disappearance.

‘I understand you,’ she said quietly. ‘But you’re too particular. We really wanted to help.’

‘I know,’ Bold answered. ‘But, for me, it’s better this way.’

‘Then I can’t persuade you to come back with me to the set now?’

‘No. But thank you. I have another plan.’

Shadow regarded him with interest. ‘Do enlighten me,’ she urged.

‘I’m going to live off the humans,’ Bold answered simply.

Shadow’s jaws dropped open. ‘You mean –’

‘I mean whenever and however I can,’ he finished for her.

‘Well!’ Her eyes held admiration. ‘So you still intend to live up to your name?’

Bold was pleased with that remark. ‘I shall try,’ he replied. ‘But I shan’t take stupid risks.’

‘Won’t that restrict you?’

‘Of course it will,’ he said. ‘But what does that matter? A beast in my condition can’t afford risks except minor ones. From what my father told me of human behaviour, wherever they are in evidence food is there for the picking.’

‘But a different sort of food from your preference?’ queried Shadow.

‘I’m already getting used to that,’ he assured her. ‘I may have to adapt further still . . .’

‘What about your den?’ she asked next.

‘I already have one base,’ said Bold, looking over his shoulder. ‘Over there – in the hedgerow.’

‘Underground?’

‘Exactly. A very lucky find.’

‘You certainly seem well set up,’ said Shadow, ‘and if you can adapt your diet as you say . . .’

‘If I have to, I will,’ Bold said with conviction.

‘I respect your determination,’ she told him.

Bold enjoyed her flattery. It made it seem he did have a purpose, after all, rather than it being just a question of eking out an existence. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I suppose I might see you from time to time?’

‘Very likely,’ she said. ‘Or one of my family.’

‘Till then, Shadow, my friend,’ Bold said brightly.

‘Good luck,’ she whispered, and they parted.

Bold limped back to the earth, greatly heartened. He felt a keen anticipation for the beginning of his campaign on the morrow.

Bold could not sleep for a long time. He was excited by what he felt was a new beginning in his life. The unmistakable sound of human voices pierced his consciousness a couple of times during the day, serving as a pertinent reminder of the challenge he had set himself.

At dusk he awoke from a rather uneasy sleep. He lay a little longer in his den, conserving his strength until the full darkness had spread over the area. Then he emerged into a rainy night. The hedgerow dripped with moisture and the air was filled with a sort of misty dampness. Bold was intoxicated by the myriad scents wafted to him by the quivering leaves and plants. There was an aroma of warm little bodies heightened by the smell of wet fur. But his direction lay elsewhere.

He crossed the vegetable field carefully and without hurry, this time ignoring its offer of food. He was after new tastes. He picked up the smell of human spoor and followed it along a well-worn path. As he had expected, it led towards a dwelling-place of Man. This was, in fact, a farmhouse, surrounded by a collection of outhouses. There was a scent of dog in one quarter which Bold studiously avoided. He slunk around the wall of a yard, licking up moisture from a runnel of rainwater as he crept forwards. On the other side of the cottage, a pungent odour greeted his eager nostrils. Literally following his nose, he went to investigate. A gap in the wall led into an area of mixed plants. Bold was able to tell by their smell which ones were intended to be used as food. In one corner there was a sort of mound comprised of all sorts of odds and ends and it was from there that the most interesting scents came. There were scraps of vegetable peelings and one or two rather bald-looking bones among the debris. Bold licked at the bones and swallowed some of the tastier smelling parings. But there was nothing very much here. He stole along the side of the wall for he heard movements under a bushy plant closer to the house.

A pair of bantams had been allowed to make their nest in the open and they had been making nervous noises as Bold betrayed his presence. They scurried away as he approached and the young fox watched them without giving chase. He knew they could have run around all night from one spot to another and
he
would never have a chance of catching one. But what did interest him were the three eggs which the hen bird revealed to his view as she abandoned guard. Bold remembered the Carrion Crow. Now it was time to sample something which he had rejected before. First, he sniffed at the strange-looking objects with great care. They smelt inviting enough, for the scent of the hen’s breast feathers was still attached to them. He took one in his jaws and bit into it. Out poured the contents on to the ground while Bold held a mouthful of unpalatable shell. He licked at the liquid, found it delicious, and made short work of the other two eggs. But his exploration of the cottage garden had to end sooner than he wished. A breeze got up and blew his scent downwind to the farm dog. A frenzy of barking broke out and Bold made as fast an exit as he could, leaving the bantams to return ruefully to the robbed nest. Bold saw no other chance of food nearby so he limped back towards the swede field. His hunger was not entirely satisfied, but the vegetables did not tempt him. Safely back in his earth, he felt reasonably content with the results of his first expedition. But he could not get the thought of those two bantams out of his mind. He knew he had no speed to catch them in a chase, but why couldn’t his other innate skill – stealth – serve his purpose, especially as he had found the nesting-place? The more he thought, the more the idea appealed to him and his mouth began to water in anticipation.