The Fox & The Hound
A couple of months ago I started to feed a young vixen. She has a stunning red coat with flecks of grey, black and white and the most beautiful amber eyes. She’s a skittish little thing, which I’m glad about, not all humans are kind, so although I enjoy watching her through the windows when I get the opportunity, I don’t really want to encourage her to feel comfortable around people. She arrives at dusk and dawn, the liminal hours, my favourite times of day. The time when the spirit world and our world intersect.
Fox has always fascinated me. Much maligned as vermin and pests, rumoured to be destructive scavengers who may even eat your pet cat. To me, they have always been beautiful intelligent creatures. Shapeshifters, able to blend into their surroundings hiding in plain sight, they have adapted to humanity's destruction of their natural environment where other species died out. As a spirit animal fox brings the energy of feminine magic, of shapeshifting, invisibility and adaptability. They live on the borders, at the edges of forests and open lands and as a creature of the night, can be a guide into the faerie realms. What has she come to teach me I wonder? It was fox who brought me to this house, a large male stood watching from a short distance as I investigated the garden on our viewing appointment, after examining me for a short time, he slowly walked away, looking back once over his shoulder, with a slight nod of his head, he seemed to be signalling that this was the place I was meant to be.
This morning there's a thick layer of snow; I put the coffee on to brew and head outside with an egg for her breakfast and nuts for my birds. The sky is a beautiful clear blue with the sun rising to my left and the moon large and white, just beginning to wane to my right. I greet the nature spirits and stand taking a few deep grounding breaths, the snow, pristine and undisturbed other than the gentle imprints of her paws, which circle everywhere, the garden is hers now, she has claimed her territory. I leave her egg, fill the bird feeders and retreat inside to the warmth where I sip my coffee, camera in hand waiting for her to arrive. She doesn’t disappoint, flanked by the ravens, ever hopeful that she will leave something behind. Feeling grateful that the lazy whippet remains in bed meaning I can enjoy her undisturbed. Later Ralph, my cocker spaniel grandson arrives, her scent is everywhere, delighting his little nose, he runs around the garden, tail wagging, nose to the ground scenting her out, as he circles excitedly hoping to find the creature who has left this delicious smell behind. Of course she will be long gone by then, back to her den, to spend the day sleeping with her belly full, safe, despite the harsh conditions of her existence. For this brief time, Ralph too will forget his domestication and the wild free hunter genes of his wolf ancestors will take over, I watch him, reminded that I too was once wild and feral before my domestication.
