The Fox and the Hound

by Daniel P. Mannix

  The man began to take Tod out for walks, at first keeping him on a long lead. Tod loved these walks, He was bored in the house, and there was so much to see and smell outside. After one walk, the man had only to approach the drawer where the lead was kept and Tod was bounding with delight, lying down to wiggle and whine with delighted anticipation, holding up his head so the lead could be snapped to his collar. Getting Tod back to the house was another proposition. As soon as he saw they were headed back, he would fight the lead, lie down, or brace himself with all four feet against the pull.

  At last the man tried letting him run free. Now Tod was perfectly happy. He ran around checking new scents and enjoying the sights. He was fascinated by the farm animals, especially the sheep. They had a heavy odor that attracted Tod, and the first time he encountered the flock he ran eagerly toward them. The sheep scattered in all directions, with Tod bounding joyfully in pursuit. As they scattered more and more, Tod began to herd them, bringing the flock together. Delighted at his power over these stupid creatures, he drove them from one end of the pasture to the other, learning how to keep the Hock bunched up and how to change their course without having them separate. When the sheep grew too panicky, Tod would stand still until they had quieted down, often dropping his long nose between his forepaws, with his hindquarters elevated in the same attitude he used when playing with the man or dog. Sometimes he would crawl in among the sheep on his belly so slowly and quietly they would stand motionless watching him. He would worm his way through the Hock in this manner, proud of his ability to fool the animals. Then, springing up, he would split the flock and drive one half around the pasture and the rest go where they would. He was much too small to hurt the sheep, and had no evil designs on them. Yet he had a desire to herd and drive them that he could not explain.

  Tod had a remarkable ability to differentiate between various sounds and to interpret even human tones of voice. Once the terrier jumped a rabbit that sprinted down a fence line toward a road where cars were moving. The dog sped after the rabbit; and Tod, although he had not seen the rabbit himself, ran after the terrier. As they neared the road, the man started shouting to them. Both animals heard him, but the dog, intent on the rabbit trail, refused to obey, and naturally Tod kept with his friend - he seldom came when called under any circumstances. When they were close to the road and the speeding traffic, the man' s voice took on a new tone. He yelled with fury. The dog continued to ignore him, but Tod stopped short, turned to look at the man in surprise, and then hurried back, fawning at the man's feet apologetically. He knew quite well from the tone that this was no ordinary command; the man was intensely serious.

  When autumn came, Tod was delighted to find great new vistas opening. From the top of a hill he could see vast distances, unhampered by tall grass or leafy bushes. Walking was now a real pleasure, for Tod had trouble making his way through dense cover and always preferred open country. Everything had become open country, even the woods that he had hitherto avoided, for the underbrush was gone. He loved the dry leaves, and batted them around with his nimble forefeet, springing up to catch them in the air with snapping jaws or rolling over and over in them. It became harder and harder for the man to entice him back to the house, for being outside was too much fun. Food had no particular attraction for him; he was too well fed, and could quite easily go for forty-eight hours without eating. Also, he was growing bigger, stronger, and more self-confident. Sometimes the man could lure him back with a mechanical toy that always aroused Tod’s curiosity, but he spent several nights out, always turning up in the morning for his bowl of milk.

  It began to grow colder. Tod did not mind the cold; in fact he rather enjoyed it, but in the early morning when the ground was coated with hoarfrost, it upset him not tn be able to smell. He ran around sniffing desperately, afraid that something had gone wrong either with him or with the world. He did not relax until the sun started a thaw and scenting conditions were better. Just to reassure himself, Tod would dart around the farm, snuffing at all the old, familiar spots. Then he had a real surprise. Trotting down to the pond for a drink, he found the surface covered with a thin, hard substance. Tod smelled it, patted at it with his paw, and then struck it repeated blows with his pile-hammer nose. The stuff cracked, and Tod got his drink.

  One evening Tod refused to return to the house in spite of all the man's cajolements. The atmosphere was oppressive and pressed down on his eardrums. He did not like the smell of the air; it seemed thick, somewhat like the heavy, moisture-charged air before a rain, yet this was different. It was more dense and confining. Tod reacted strongly to anything new; it either fascinated or terrified him. This terrified him. He ran around whimpering until finally the man left him, Then Tod got lonely and went to the back door. He sniffed under it. He could smell the people and food inside, and hesitatingly lifted one paw to scratch; then thought better of it. He was too distraught to think clearly, and ended by running around the farm several times and finally curling up under the woodpile, Scenting was good, and this partly reassured him, as whatever the danger was, he could tell when it was coming by his nose. At last he went to sleep.

  When he awakened, the world had turned white. Tod sat up astonished. He was a little frightened but mainly curious. He dabbed at the stuff with one paw and studied the curious way it crumbled. He poked at it with his long nose and was charmed when his nose plunged into the stuff. Now he was thoroughly excited. He bounded out into the snow, diving from one drift to another, knocking it about by quick sideways motions with his nose. When miniature snowballs formed and rolled down the drifts, Tod chased them, biting gaily and then trying to find out what had happened to the vanished spheres. He was still rollicking happily about when the man came out. Tod was so happy he allowed himself to be picked up without a struggle and carried inside for breakfast. As soon as he was through eating, he anxiously scratched at the door to be let out again. This time the man and dog went with him, and Tod had a magnificent time making a complete fool out of them both, for often he could run on the surface of the snow when his two companions floundered helplessly in the drifts. This was exactly Tod's idea of a joke, and he made the most of it.

  As the winter continued, Tod grew increasingly restless. His testes began to swell and trouble him so that he sometimes twisted around to bite at them. He grew more and more irritable, snapping at the dog, and several times he bit the man severely when picked up. He stayed away more and more, returning to the farm mainly to pick up food at the garbage dump in the far pasture; but sometimes he still craved companionship, scratching and barking at the back door until he was let in. At such times he would run ardently from the man to the dog, doing everything to show how glad he was to be home. For a day or so he might stay at the farm, following the man everywhere he went, going contentedly to the once-hated room at night and being even tamer than the dog. Then the throbbing would start in his swollen testes again, and he would grow restless and irritable.

  His coat, which had been lackluster and shabby, was thicker and so much more colorful that he seemed like a different animal. His back became a burnished red with golden tints. His chest and belly turned a creamy white, while his eartips and lower parts of his long legs were a rich black. His brush became enormous, until it was nearly half his own size, while a snowy tassle appeared on the tip. A slight but noticeable ruff appeared around his neck that stood out when he was excited. Because of the ruff, his ears seemed more prominent and his thin nose was accentuated. His face resembled an inverted triangle with the apex greatly extended. During the summer he might have been mistaken for a small yellow dog or even a large cat. Now he was unmistakably a fox.

  Tod spent hours running aimlessly through the fields or along the edges of woods, looking for something, he knew not what. Occasionally he would catch a mouse and far less frequently a rabbit, half frozen and unable to put forth its best speed. He attacked his quarry with a fury bordering on hysteria, growling as he killed and then flinging it about in an orgy of
ferocity. He seldom bothered to eat it, for in killing he was striving to find a relief for the mysterious urge that possessed him. The urge was partly satisfied by the wriggling and squealing of the prey and the taste of hot, salty blood, but within minutes the agonizing restlessness would return and Tod would race on and on, knowing that only by exhausting himself could he rest and sleep.

  Occasionally the urge would temporarily disappear, and then Tod was rational again. He would return to the garbage dump to look for food, although he no longer scratched at the door. One winter evening he saw the man on his way to the barn, and Tod ran joyfully to greet him. For nearly an hour they played together as they had often played when he was a puppy - Tod rushing in to bite playfully at the man's outstretched hands, grab any objects thrown him, and dash around with it while the man chased him, and once while the man was kneeling, even jumping on his back and nipping his ear. But whenever the man tried to catch him, Tod ducked away. He did not want to be confined, and his wild life was making him increasingly distrustful of any human.

  One night. while Tod was sleeping, thoroughly exhausted, under a blown-down pine, he was awakened by a distant scream. It was a shrill, eerie sound, charged with hatred and terror. Tod shuddered at the sound, and lay still. The cry came again and again, growing even more shrill and vindictive. Gradually Tod became interested. He was always interested, if frightened, of anything new, and he had never heard a noise like this. The, too, there was a quality of fear in the cry that lured him. Tod automatically reacted to the sight or sound of any living creature in distress. When the sheep had run, he had chased them furiously, desiring only to sink his teeth into the frightened animals, but when they had turned at bay Tod had promptly stopped. Once he had heard the scream of a rabbit and run eagerly to the spot, for the hopeless terror in the noise had set his blood pounding. When he found the rabbit in the grip of a great horned owl that clicked at him with its hooked beak and spread its great wings, Tod had hastily retreated. This cry was not. unlike the cry of the doomed rabbit, and might well mean some creature was in dire straits. If so, killing would be easy, and killing the helpless always appealed to Tod far more than killing the strong.

  He rose and trotted toward the noise. It had stopped now, and Tod hesitated, one foot upraised, snuffing the wind. It was against him, so he made a long circle to get downwind. As he loped along, a scent struck him that brought him up sharply, It was such a scent as he had never known. It was alien, uncanny, alarming, and yet as he inhaled it the pressure in his testes began to mount until it was almost unbearable. Tod ran back and forth, whining, snapping at the air in an agony of pain and fear, yet the odor drew him forward as though pulled by an invisible wire.

  Agonized with suspicion, awe-stricken, furious with himself, Tod still crept closer, taking advantage of every bit of cover. The painfully exciting scent was now heavy in the air. There was a little glade ahead, and by the light of the full moon Tod saw something dart from the shadow of a tree into the even deeper shadow of laurel thicket. He dropped and lay waiting for it to reappear. Suddenly the squall came again, so close it made Tod start. The creature had stopped by the laurel, and was crying. Tod lay listening and watching, tom by conflicting emotions.

  A night breeze swept through the grove, making air currents eddy. The squalling stopped. Tod knew the creature was aware of his presence; he knew because he could no longer wind it, and when he could not wind something, then the actions of creatures like the dog and the sheep had shown they could wind him. Also, the abrupt stopping of the squalling told him that the creature knew he was there. He was tempted to run, but did not dare reveal his presence or turn his back.

  The creature came out of the shadows and approached him. Tod watched it come with apprehension tinged with interest. It was somewhat smaller than he was, which partly restored his confidence, and its motions were not belligerent; Tod's fine eyesight could detect the slightest motion of belligerency even more readily than he could tell the difference between one feeding dish and another. He rose to meet it.

  The creature stopped, cringed, and began to whine. Tod studied it critically, checking with both nose and eyes. It had two odors: one was the strange, overpowering scent that had drawn him to the glade, and the other was the creature's personal scent. Tod gradually realized this scent was akin to his own. He was increasingly more interested, and advanced.

  Suddenly there was an interruption. Another animal bounded into the glade. This stranger was fully as big as Tod, even slightly larger. It stopped short on seeing him. The vixen ran back and forth between them, whining and cringing.

  The newcomer's attitude was surprised rather than aggressive, and he showed no sign of cringing. He approached Tod stiff-legged, and Tod, with many inner forebodings, came toward him in the same attitude. He vaguely realized now that both these animals were foxes and that the vixen was somehow different than he was, but whether this newcomer was a vixen or not, he did not know. Obviously the stranger was also in some doubt, for he kept his brush raised so the identifying scent from his anal glands could spread. Tod raised his brush, and the two gingerly circled each other head to tail, each trying to get a whiff of the other's anus.

  Suddenly the newcomer bounded back. As he did so, Tod got a strong whiff of the stranger's anal glands. This was no vixen, but a dog fox like himself. The stranger had gotten his scent a moment before, and now there was no doubt of his belligerency. He snarled, his back humping and his head going down. Tod imitated him. Again they came together, still edging sideways toward each other, each guarding with his brush. The screams of the vixen increased in pitch and excitement.

  The stranger hit Tod across the mask with his brush and then flung himself in for a hold, but Tod slapped his own brush into the open jaws and jumped clear. Again they circled each other while the vixen danced screaming around them. Tod tried to knock the stranger over by striking with his rump, but the older fox easily avoided the blow.

  Tod was quite willing to retreat. Although the vixen's odor and behavior had attracted him, he was curious rather than lustful, and would have had little idea how to proceed even if this stranger had not arrived. The stranger was bigger and more determined than he was, and had it not been from fear of a rear attack, Tod would have fled. The stranger sensed his uncertainty and did not press home an attack. He wanted only to have Tod depart. Slowly the circling combatants edged away from each other and Tod would have retreated had not the vixen, still cringing, darted in, snapping right and left at both the males. The dog foxes were highly tense and this sudden attack infuriated them. In fact, in their keyed-up state they were not quite sure whether they had been attacked by the vixen or by each other. Screaming and hissing, they came together.

  Tod reared up and pushed at the stranger with his forefeet to hold him off. The stranger likewise reared, and the two foxes stood on their hind legs with their forefeet pressed against each other's chests, snapping at each other. They toppled over and rolled on the ground, snapping and trying for a hold. The stranger slid under Tod, his forelegs folded under him, trying to seize him by the testes. He struck a stone, or Tod would have been finished. Tod managed to leap back barely in time. Furious as he was, he did not dare to close again, and ran to and fro, snarling. The stranger ignored him and turned to the vixen. She yielded with only a perfunctory struggle. While the mating took place Tod ran in circles, barking, snarling, and biting at the frozen ground in an agony of jealousy and frustration.

  The pair left together, and though Tod followed them a short distance he soon gave it up and turned away. After that, he kept his ears tuned for another barking vixen, and sniffed the breeze hopefully when out hunting, but without results.

  Slowly Tod gained a knowledge of the territory. His short height was always a major problem. For that reason, he liked to go from rise to rise, stopping to look around each time. He

  preferred to trot along the edges of woods where he could see; but because he always felt nervous and exposed in open fields,
he followed the fence lines or hedgerows. When he had to cross an open field, he generally ran. He often ran along the top of a post-and-rail fence where he could see a considerable distance; but this did not do him much good in establishing distant landmarks, for when he jumped down again he could no longer keep the faraway objects in view. So he traveled from marker to marker, such as a special gateway, a stump, a knoll, a certain tree, or a large stone, passing close to his marker yet not touching it. When he found a trail, a sheep path, or a wagon track, he followed that for convenience. As time went on, his route became routine and he seldom departed from it. His range was about a square mile, and although when hunting was poor he was forced to extend it, he always left the known territory with reluctance.

  In running his route, he knew from experience exactly where all the likely game spots were, and carefully checked them. When he drew a blank and was forced to go into strange country, he ran about aimlessly, yet knowing enough to check each thicket, brush pile, or snowdrift around the base of a tree, as he had learned game often lay up in these places. In the woods he never passed a fallen tree without running along it or a stump without jumping on top. He did this partly so he could look around, but also because he liked climbing on objects simply for the fun of it.