A very sad day for me

Or The life of one urban fox

We got our allotment in the middle of April this year; it was a mass of bramble bushes over seven foot high, so the first two weeks were spent cutting and hacking to clear not even half of the ground in our spare time.

A couple of times while we were working through the early spring evenings we disturbed a fox who had taken up residence in the jungle of thorns that was to become our garden, but we thought as the environment it had chosen dwindled it would move on, what we didn’t realise was that it was a vixen and she was about to have, or had just had a litter, there was little chance of her moving on at that time.

Soon enough I was planting beds of produce and then the war began. The fox would nightly dig up areas I had planted that day, destroying young plants I had started at home on the window sill, or worse, digging up beds I had planted with seeds, the plants of which I had never seen the leaves of, so when something sprouted, because it was no longer in a straight line, I had no idea if it was weed or seed that was growing.

I tried everything to discourage the fox, from garlic powder to cayenne pepper, to the husband’s urine. I balked at anything violent though, as I respected the animal’s right to life, despite what it was doing to my garden. I did lots of research in to the habits of foxes, to see if I could find a way to get it to move on that way, and then I made a discovery. Aside from the fox there were other creatures out there eating my crops as soon as I could plant them, slugs, pigeons and mice to name but a few, but these three were a major problem, and guess what animal finds all three a bit of a delicacy, yes my fox, so a sort of truce was called. Beds I had freshly planted were netted with strong tent pegs all round until plants became established, and bird seed was set out for the pigeons. Often I would arrive at the plot to see signs of a fox kill of a pigeon, and I felt I had, to a small degree, returned the natural balance of things.

Then one evening I was working late on my own, and the bushes in the over grown plot next door started rattling, and suddenly I could hear the excited little yaps of small foxes at play. I looked up to see my fox sitting watching me near the bushes, but she was also watching the pups, which were out of my sight, and I suddenly felt as if we had finally reached an understanding. From there on in, every evening I was allowed to be present at the cubs play time, though I seldom got more than a glimpse of their tiny bodies, but that was more than enough for me. Mum looked exhausted and thin, so I started taking up my cats left over dinners (the bits my cat didn’t eat the day before) and leaving it out for her in the hope it would offer her some respite. Hey don’t criticize me, I brought up two children on my own, I know how tiring it can be, and how little time you have left to look after yourself, and this fox had three babies to protect and feed, not two!

About four weeks later I arrived on the plot, cat food in hand, to discover the decapitated head of one of the pups in the middle of my potato bed. A male fox had attacked the litter so the mother would mate with him. Apparently this is a common occurrence, and happens a lot in nature, but understanding this didn’t help my emotional reaction to it, nor did it stop my grieving on behalf of the mother, who was gone, where I don’t know. My evenings at the plot were now silent apart from the sound of distant traffic and bird song, and felt exceptionally silent to me.

Roughly a week later I was working on a bed during the day this time, when I heard a noise behind me, when I turned there was a small fox crawling on its belly towards me, it had a nasty gash on its left shoulder, its fur was matted and dirty with blood and mud, and it was as thin as a rake. When I stood up it tried to back away, but it just didn’t have the strength to move far, and I knew I had to do something, but at the same time, I knew I didn’t want the fox, if it survived, to become too friendly with humans, we are not a nice species as a whole in inner cities. So I rushed round the allotment hunting out all the slugs I could find, (the only thing I knew it could eat that I was capable of catching for it.) I had stopped taking my cats left over food down when the rest of the litter died, how I wished at that moment that I hadn’t done that! I threw the slugs towards the pup, never going too near myself, and the pup ate them up as fast as I could find them. Then I got a plant pot dish from the greenhouse and filled it with water and put that down close by. Satisfied that I had done all that I could do for the day, I left the fox to live or die, for the night.

The next day I returned, half expecting to find a body, but still carrying the cat food, just in case, and don’t tell my husband, but I may have taken down a little extra that had never gotten to see the cats bowl first. To my relief there was no body to be found, so I left the food in the same place where I used to leave it for the mother, and after doing a quick check around the allotment, I left to let the cub eat.

After that we sort of fell in to a routine, I’d leave the cat food, and the next day it would be gone. I had no idea if it was the cub that was eating it, or if it was another creature of the night, but I carried on leaving my little offerings, just in case. I’d like to add at this point, just in case my husband reads this, that I haven’t added any extra food since that first day! (It is always good to hedge your bets!)

Then three weeks ago I was down the allotment late, dusk was well and truly falling, and the light was almost gone, and suddenly my fox cub appeared, all grown up! She had a nasty scar on her left shoulder, and the unmistakeable white mask, legs and tail tip. She knew I was there, and walked within ten feet of me, sat down and watched me for a few minutes. I, of course, was grinning like the proverbial Cheshire Cat, even though I didn’t move any other muscles. Then a male fox appeared and she stood up and they walked round to where I’d left the cat food, ate together and then departed. My heart was singing for days at that sight, I can tell you!

Today I walked down to the allotment, and at the entrance to the car park that I have to walk through to get to the plots, was the body of my fox. She had been hit by a car, going at speed by the looks of it, as she had been almost torn in half. I could still see the scar on her shoulder, despite her injuries, so I knew it was her.

Once again, my heart bleeds.