Town Fox, Country Fox

We’ve always had urban  foxes passing through and spending time in our garden, but there seems to be an excess of vulpine activity in these parts of late.  Their fine sense of just how long it’s safe to stare at the stupid human before flowing silkily under or over the fence to safety displays a magnificent comic insolence.  And now that their activities have taken on a destructive and faintly macabre air I feel like the slow witted butt of many a foxy joke. It’s almost like Wiley E Coyote is getting his own back in a small suburban English garden, and I am the one who’s playing the straight guy.

They’ve always dug the occasional hole in the grass, and they’ve always dumped bones in the flower beds. We have become blasé to their eerie nocturnal shrieking and if they eat an occasional bird… well, they are only making a living after all, and I bet they eat a good many rats, too. We rub along together pretty well. But last week I was astonished to find a whole sheep skull under the rosemary bush looking at me through empty eye sockets like a prop from a remake of Lord Of The Flies.  And yesterday our neighbour in the flat downstairs (who is a strict vegan) found two large meaty bones abandoned on her back doorstep. Presumably someone is feeding them, or they are raiding illegally dumped food waste. I’d love to know where this stuff is coming from, but the foxes aren’t telling.

They’ve dug up our carrots and they’ve strewn Kentucky Fried Chicken boxes around like a bunch of truanting kids. They pulled up a tomato plant, just for fun. There is nothing they like better than gnawing at and playing football with our flowerpots, and they especially love my old workboots which I planted with geraniums; I never know where I’m going to find them from one morning to the next. They treat our garden the way rock stars treat hotel bedrooms. And I would love to see them doing it.

But oddly, the best sighting I’ve had all this year was of a wild country fox, hunting voles in a lush spring meadow. Country foxes are warier beasts all together, so I guessed all we’d get was a brief glimpse before it saw us and vanished into the long grass. But we were screened by a thick hedgerow and the wind was in our favour – the fox had no idea we were there at all.

It combed the meadow, listening intently for a sound that might betray a rodent or bird.  It was a lesson to see how it went about it’s business, calm and patient yet utterly focussed, and it wasn’t long before we saw it pounce and eat some small unlucky thing.

It came closer and closer as it quartered the field, I still can’t quite believe it came so close that I could get these pictures with my humble point-and-shoot camera. I’ve hesitated to photograph wild animals before, out of respect and and a desire to not spoil a moment with the clattering of the shutter, but watching this creature go about it’s daily business did not feel intrusive. A lesson in methodical patience, it went about the chore of feeding itself with a relaxed unhurried alertness and I tried to do the same as I recorded it.

We must have watched it hunting in the sunshine and long grass for ten minutes or more and I would have gladly stayed longer, but we were only half way through our walk and needed to keep going if we were to make it home before dark.

As we continued to walk along the field edge the fox continued hunting, its beauty glowing bright in the sun. If I ever felt the slightest irritation with it’s city living cousins those feelings got melted utterly as I looked over my shoulder and watched it, still stalking the long grass, till it was out of sight.

To read more Nature Notes, why not visit Rambling Woods – in fact, why not write a Nature Notes post of your own?

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Tracks in the snow

Yesterday we were told to expect two feet of snow to fall overnight, and sure enough, around about midnight it began. A fine, crisp powdery snow falling thickly – as I watched from the top of the fire escape it obliterated the grass below. I went to bed thrilled skinny that even in London you get the good snow sometimes!

The morning dawned quiet and still, a strange thing in the city. But the snow was not the thick blanket I had hoped for and the flakes that were still tumbling out of the sky were wet and melting as they fell.  I trudged down the slush covered fire escape with the new bird feeder in one hand and a stepladder in the the other, trying to figure out where the most squirrel proofed place in the garden might be. That’s when I spotted the dainty tracks criss crossing the snow. There were two sets of tracks, one old and hard to read and filling up rapidly with falling snow. The tracks you see to the left however were crisp and fresh as a daisy.  A fox! Looks like  foxy was running to leap the fence when she heard me open the door – I just missed seeing her. I know that foxes hunt the mice and other rodents that hang around the compost bins and nearby garden sheds and wonder if this weather makes hunting easier or harder.  I realised that my delight in the wintry weather largely comes from having plenty to eat and not having to hunt for my food under a freezing blanket of snow. This is harsh weather for wildlife and set to stay for a week at the very least, which is why I’m breaking my rule about never feeding the birds.

Feeding the birds in my neighbourhood is a bad idea; it’s pretty much inviting them to commit suicide. Our eccentric cat loving neighbour feeds all the local cats which means that his – and our – garden is constantly full of them. Come the snow, the cats go home and I feel a little better about doing it, but there are still the squirrels to contend with – I doubt they’d actually kill a bird, but they can certainly drive them all away and eat their food. I like squirrels, but in the garden they are cunning gluttons. And then of course there is fantastic Ms fox. But I wouldn’t mind a bit if I saw a fox take a bird from our garden -  it’s what they do, it’s what they’ve always done, just making a living after all. If I feed the birds and a fox benefits from that one day… well, good luck to it.

So I hung up the feeder and retreated indoors, assuming that the big snow we were promised was all just talk. A couple of hours later the sky was dizzy with whirling snowflakes, the clouds an eerie ultraviolet. Let’s see how it looks tomorrow.

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Belated Happy New Year…

…I know it’s late but I’ve barely sat still for the last six weeks or so, so I hope you’ll forgive me. Coming soon I have some pictures of the incredible freak weather southern England has been experiencing. But for now, just to remind us that spring really will be on it’s way sooner than you think, I’d like to introduce you to Ms Fox. She’s making the most impressive racket in our back gardens right now as she calls to Mr Fox all night and all day, sometimes a hushed  “yip yip yip”, but more and more often a window rattling scream that would test the strongest nerves. I caught her going about her morning routine, patrolling the neighbourhood fences and walls in search of breakfast.

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Herbivores 2, Omnivores nil.

I turned back soon after I had seen the fox. I was bursting to tell someone about it, and as the wind was no longer in my favour and I wasn’t taking any care over how quietly I walked, I was not expecting to see my inquisitive friend from earlier grazing about fifty yards up the trail. It was a roe deer, and when I photographed it, it was alternately eating wild flowers from the hedgerow and scuffing up the ground to find something good to eat – I don’t know what, although I have read that deer sometimes eat the tubers of Lords and Ladies plants. Unsure of how close I could get, I crept along, hiding behind the dense foliage of the overhanging trees until I was close enough to get a few pictures. I was becoming proud of my amateur stalking technique until it became apparent that once again the deer was well aware of my presence and always had been.

I had the distinct impression that it felt far more in control of the situation than I could ever be, so I gave up my pretence of stalking and just began to follow it in the open, and the deer adjusted the distance between us as it saw fit. It seemed to have a comfort zone of about twenty yards, and until I got a terrible urge for a cup of tea and began to move more purposefully it lingered serenely in the tunnel of trees.

After lunch I went back out, determined to prove myself able to move unnoticed through the fields and hedgerows. If the fox had utterly failed to see me when I was right under his nose I felt sure I could work the same magic again, and deliberately this time.

Creeping along the trail for a third time, I was rewarded by the delightful sight of three baby rabbits grazing and gambolling in the grass close to where I’d seen the fox. I can’t begin to tell you how painstakingly I worked my way towards them; how I winced when I trod “SCRUNCH!” on an unfortunate snail and three sets of long, hairy ears swivelled suspiciously in my direction, nor how excruciatingly careful I was to remain invisible. I felt I had truly earned my right to watch when I got to within about five metres and they were still cavorting giddily; then I trod heavily on a twig…and…and… nothing happened! Slightly deflated I stepped out in plain view, and sure enough the rabbits continued to graze unconcernedly, while keeping an insultingly casual eye on me. They were not scared or even particularly curious, and I wondered if they would have been this nonchalant about the fox I had seen stalking them earlier. It’s true that young rabbits are notorious for their insolence but again I felt out of my depth; the rabbits were certainly taking a risk, yet I felt that in attempting to creep up on them I was the foolish one. They had sized me up and seen no threat, and luckily for them, they had been right.

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