by Colin Dann
Eventually Bold began to look for shelter. He did not know how far he had come but, as usual, his legs told him it was time to rest. He hid himself away in the nearest piece of woodland, content with his progress for that night. The next evening he was off again in the direction of that illumined piece of sky. The mist had disappeared and presently he heard quite plainly the muffled sounds of the town. They were, as yet, too distant to be alarming. He had no experience of the terrifying noises that humans can make in their daily lives. Motor traffic and the blare of machinery were beyond his knowledge. The crow had not warned him what to expect and, at the end of his second night’s travelling, he rested quite unprepared for the shock that was to come with the morning.
He had arrived on the edges of some playing fields where a litter basket had provided him with some miscellaneous pickings. It had been easy to overturn it to get at the contents and, after he had eaten, Bold laid himself down at the bottom of a privet hedge. When dawn broke, the first noises of a wakening town were carried to the sleeping fox, dispelling his slumbers. Wrapped in his thick, winter brush he lay without moving, but now wide awake. The early morning din was as nothing to what would happen when the town’s pulse really began to beat. Bold was uneasy. He moved from the hedge to find thicker cover. There wasn’t any. He began to panic. The noise was growing steadily louder. He couldn’t keep still. Every fresh roar made him turn in fright, but he was limping around in circles. Suddenly he saw what looked like a dark hole and made straight for it. It was a small hut, containing some tools belonging to the groundsman of the playing fields. The door had been left ajar and Bold blundered in, upsetting the stacked implements and sending them crashing to the wooden floor. Now quite terrified, he tottered out again, casting about wildly for anything that might shelter him. He saw some people walking nearby with their dogs and slunk back to the privet hedge. But the din seemed to fill the air, blotting out his ability to employ even his most basic instincts. At last he heard a muttered croak close at hand.
‘Come with me. I’ll show you where.’ The Carrion Crow was waiting for him, perched very conspicuously in a rowan tree. He took off and flew low, directly across the playing fields. Bold stumbled after him mindlessly. On the other side the bird waited for him to catch up and then flew straight to a patch of waste ground, which was choked with bramble, elm-scrub and thick banks of rusty-leaved weeds. Bold needed no bidding to dive into this mass of vegetation until he was quite invisible. The crow sat on the top of a sycamore sapling and spied out the land.
‘You’re quite safe now,’ he said.
Bold refrained from answering. The last half hour, particularly the crossing of the playing fields in full view, had quite unnerved him.
‘You took longer to get here than I was expecting,’ the crow went on.
Now Bold said: ‘I wish I hadn’t come. That dreadful noise! I’ve never heard anything like it before. I’d have been better off staying where I was.’
‘Nonsense!’ scoffed the crow. ‘No good being safe and secure elsewhere if you can’t find anything to eat.’
‘I was doing all right,’ Bold muttered from the undergrowth.
‘You’ll do better here,’ the crow told him, ‘when you’ve adjusted yourself.’
‘That I shall never do.’
‘You know, noise itself can’t harm you. It is town noise made by humans, and no danger whatsoever to you or any other creature. You simply have to get used to it. It’s the same every day. At night, when you’ll be around, it’s quieter. All you’ve got to watch out for are the makers of the noise.’
Bold had calmed down a little by now. The din had not increased and there was no sign of it approaching nearer to him. It would be worth waiting until nightfall to see if the crow’s words were correct.
‘You’ll soon change your mind about things once you start foraging,’ the bird reassured him. ‘There are rich pickings if you know where to look for them.’
‘Very well,’ said Bold. ‘I shall give it a try. And, by the way, I forgot to thank you for your rescue operation.’
‘I have to confess to some self-interest in this,’ said the bird honestly. ‘You’ll be able to tap sources of food I can’t reach. So I’m hoping that my diet might be enriched too . . .’
‘I understand you,’ said Bold. ‘And I certainly owe you a lot. You shall share anything I find – as long as there’s sufficient for me.’
‘Naturally. And I will do the same for you – for I shall be about in the daytime. So, between us, we can work this patch for all it’s worth. No better place in the winter than close to Man’s nesting sites.’
Bold was amused at the other’s tone. It seemed his own idea of exploiting the humans was now shared by this bird.
‘In fact,’ the crow declared, ‘it’s time I rustled up something now. You stay put,’ he added as he left, an unnecessary remark as far as Bold was concerned, who immediately fell asleep.
He was still asleep when his partner returned. The crow searched for a sign of him with his beady eyes but to no avail, so good was the fox’s camouflage. Presently he cawed irritably.
‘You’re back,’ Bold mumbled drowsily. Only a slight rustling of the undergrowth betrayed his whereabouts.
The crow waited patiently but Bold didn’t stir. ‘Aren’t you going to see what I’ve brought?’ he croaked. ‘It’s all yours. I’ve eaten my fill.’
Bold crept out from his screen and sniffed at the strange-looking object that awaited him – a packet of sandwiches. He sniffed all round it and gave it a tentative lick. ‘What’s this?’ he asked, looking puzzled.
‘Man food,’ answered the crow. ‘I found it on the ground. It’s quite palatable.’
‘It smells tasty enough but –’ Bold broke off to have another look at it. Then he clawed at the paper wrapping. That didn’t appear to be palatable.
‘You have to accept what comes,’ the crow explained. ‘Can’t afford to overlook anything. You’ll be surprised what you can eat when you get into the habit.’
Bold had never seen bread before, but there was meat inside it and he found himself eating the whole concoction and enjoying it.
‘Was this your meal too?’ he asked afterwards.
‘No,’ said the crow. ‘I found some food left out for a cat or dog and ate all that.’
‘Some poor creature will go hungry then,’ Bold opined. ‘I think I shall call you “Robber”.’
‘Don’t waste any sympathy on them,’ the crow retorted. ‘Those that Man feeds never go hungry. So you and I have every right to take what we can.’
‘Yes, Robber,’ said Bold drily.
‘Yes, Bold,’ replied Robber.
—— 11 ——
The Urban Fox
When night fell, it was Bold’s turn to make a foray. Robber had gone to roost in a secluded place at the top of a tall tree, leaving the young fox to gather his courage together. For a long time the noise from the town continued unabated. But as the nocturnal hours marched by, a comparative peace descended, only occasionally interrupted by a sudden, strident sound. Then Bold was ready to move.
He went limping across the fields, now bathed by a fitful moonlight, and made for the black shapes of the human’s dwellings. He paused often to test the air as he went. His powerful sense of smell detected a host of strange scents, none of which was familiar to him. But he pressed on, prepared to take cover only if the smell of dog or that of Man himself was recognizable. The first group of buildings he came to lay in complete darkness. Walls or fences bounded them and their plots of land, and Bold skulked along these barriers like a shadow, searching for an opening. For, unlike other animals of his kind, he could not jump. He soon realized he was indeed handicapped for he was thus effectively debarred from entering most of the gardens. Of course he was able to contort himself wonderfully to slink through the slightest gap; he could flatten himself to scramble underneath an obstacle; he could even dig; but any sort of leap was absolutely beyond his scope.
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br /> On that first exploratory roam around Bold succeeded in visiting a number of yards and gardens and this was when he discovered what was to be the mainstay of his food supply for weeks to come – the dustbin. Once he had got used to the clang that some of them made what a remarkable collection of unwanted scraps he found in these receptacles! There was always something, it seemed, of which use could be made. It was almost as if the improvident humans had attempted to encourage him to feast upon these puzzling little dumps of food. Bold accepted each and every thing gratefully as he came to realize that his survival appeared to be ensured. Winter would not claim him as a victim after all.
His inquisitiveness kept him so busy that he forgot how far he was from his new hideaway. Dawn was stealing across the sky as he hastily set off on the return journey. He did not remember his duty to Robber, for he went empty-jawed. Back along the human paths he hobbled until he reached the playing fields. The noise had started up again as he made haste across the wide open space. Only when he reached the waste plot did he realize he had not kept to his bargain.
Robber arrived at the spot, intending to leave Bold to snooze peacefully. He waddled along the ground, jerkily turning his head this way and that as he searched for the delicacy he was sure the fox would have brought him. Of course, there was none. Robber wondered if Bold had not returned. He flew up to a branch and spied out the land. No sign of any animal. Then he ‘cawed’ three or four times loudly and harshly with annoyance.
‘I’m here,’ Bold owned up.
‘Ah, now I see you,’ said the crow. ‘Were you unsuccessful?’
‘Er – no, not exactly,’ Bold replied awkwardly.
There was a pause. ‘Oh! So our bargain is to be a one-sided sort, is it?’ remarked the crow.
‘Not at all,’ Bold hastened to explain. ‘I – I was caught rather far from home when dawn broke.’
‘I see. Well, as you are still in my debt I shall not be expected to find you anything now?’
‘Of course not,’ said Bold in a small voice.
Robber flew away immediately, without another word. Bold did feel a little shamed and decided he would make up for his failure on his next trip.
The next evening came round wonderfully quickly. December arrived with a stinging squall of sleet that drove across the open fields in a spray of ice-needles. The fox’s eyes smarted as he battled against the blast, cursing the handicap of his limp. But there was shelter amongst Man’s buildings and Bold again began to enjoy his exploring. In one yard he found two bowls, one containing milk; the other fish. He greatly appreciated the thoughtfulness of the humans who had supplied them. There didn’t seem to be any other animals nearby to claim the bowls’ contents.
He went on cautiously, snapping up pieces of bread missed by birds in one garden, knocking over bins in another to raid the pungent-smelling collections that spilled from them. He had learnt to retire quickly behind a plant or other screen as the bin crashed down; then, if nothing happened after a few minutes, he slunk back to select his pickings. Sometimes the clattering he caused did bring a human into the open. On those occasions, Bold was out of the garden and well away from the scene before he could be noticed.
On this evening he was to find that there were competitors for his food. He was looking into a large fenced area of lawn and flower beds behind an imposing house. The sleet fell slantwise across the grass in a sort of mist. Out of the shadows around the building there trotted a brisk, confident-looking fox that seemed to know exactly what it was about. Bold’s muscles tautened as he watched. The animal stepped lightly across the grass with a fluid grace that was a perfect illustration of health and vitality. It made straight for a stone bird-table, the flat top of which was nearly two metres from the ground. With the most enviable agility the fox leapt in one flowing movement up to the top. There it stood, fearlessly surveying its surroundings, before snatching up the remnants of the birds’ leavings. Bold was entranced. He knew it to be a female, and he was as full of admiration for her strength as for her grace and elegance. He thought of his own poor frame; his hobbling walk; his inability to jump, and he shrank back timidly to avoid being detected.
As luck would have it, after making a brief circuit of the garden, the vixen came straight towards Bold. Instinctively he flattened himself against the ground. She leapt the fence effortlessly and landed about three metres from him. Some slight involuntary movement on Bold’s part betrayed his presence. She turned and looked at him calmly. No trace of surprise or curiosity was shown by her. For a few moments they stared into each others’ eyes, then she swung round and trotted coolly away as if he had been of no more interest than a piece of wood.
Bold felt humiliated by her disregard. Although there was no reason for her to pay him any attention, her nonchalance only made him all the more conscious of his poor appearance. He felt that her reaction might have been quite different had she seen him as he had once been in those first glorious weeks after he had left the Nature Reserve. Now he was indeed quite another animal. His physical deficiencies assumed a new proportion in his mind and his confidence fell to a low ebb. What a cringing, struggling scrap of a creature he had become! He crawled away from the fence, his brush hanging lifelessly between his legs. Why continue the fight? He would be better off out of it all.
But life had to go on and Bold had to go on. He pulled a meaty-looking bone from the next container he upset and began his slow, sad, homeward journey. At least Robber would have no cause for complaint this time.
The crow was delighted with Bold’s offering and spent a long time pulling and pecking at the fragments of meat that still clung around the bone. Bold slept deeply, utterly dispirited and tired out by his feelings. Robber came back during the day and dropped a share of his kill for the fox to enjoy, for he did not live entirely off carrion. But Bold made no attempt to fetch it. Flying overhead later Robber noticed the untasted morsel and down he came to reclaim it.
‘Shame to waste it if it’s not to your taste,’ he remarked.
‘Have it by all means,’ said Bold disinterestedly.
Something in his tone made the bird pause. ‘Is there anything wrong?’ he inquired.
‘Of course – everything’s wrong,’ Bold growled bitterly.
‘Everything?’
‘Everything with me.’
‘Aha!’ said Robber. ‘So that’s it. Feeling sorry for yourself. Doesn’t do any good, you know.’
Bold held his tongue.
‘You’re still alive, Bold, my friend,’ the bird went on. ‘You would have died out there if you hadn’t followed my advice.’
‘Might have been the best thing,’ Bold muttered. ‘After all, what am I doing? Just prolonging the agony!’
‘Your leg may not always be so bad,’ said Robber encouragingly.
‘Yes, it will,’ said Bold. ‘I shall never run or jump again as I used to do. If anything, it’s worse than before.’
‘You’re not very easy to comfort,’ said Robber shortly. ‘I don’t know why I’m bothering.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Bold. ‘I ought to be grateful for a comrade, I know. But I think I’m beginning to miss my own kind.’
‘That’s easily solved,’ Robber told him. ‘There are plenty more foxes around here.’
‘I know, I saw one,’ said Bold morosely.
Robber looked at him, his head on one side. ‘Couldn’t have been a vixen, I suppose?’ he chuckled.
‘Yes, yes – a vixen,’ Bold answered.
‘Well, that’s hopeful, then?’
‘Quite the reverse,’ the fox said. ‘I’m not the most impressive of beasts, Robber.’
‘Oh dear. Now, now,’ Robber said awkwardly. ‘Humph! Well, you’ll soon put some meat back on your bones, I’m sure.’ He eyed the morsel of food with an air of irresolution, for he badly wanted to eat it. Then he seemed to make a decision. He stepped away from it and turned his back. ‘Of course, you won’t if you let good food go begging,’ he said. ‘If you don�
�t hurry and eat what I brought you while my back’s turned I shall eat it.’
Bold saw the sense in the remark and knew the bird was making a real sacrifice, something almost unknown in the crow family except at nesting time. He came out of hiding and gulped down the food, before Robber could change his mind.
‘That’s better,’ said the crow, as he turned back, but Bold thought he detected a note of disappointment in the familiar croak.
‘Thank you, Robber,’ he said humbly. ‘I’m glad you’re my friend.’
The crow rustled his wings and started to preen himself as a diversion. He was just a little embarrassed. ‘Well,’ he said eventually, ‘I wish you good hunting tonight.’
Bold wasn’t thinking of his hunting. His thoughts were of a certain lithe young vixen and his one hope was that he might encounter her again.
—— 12 ——
Whisper
For the next week Bold visited the same large garden where he had seen the vixen. He couldn’t get inside it since he was unable to jump the fence. So, each night, he gazed through the palings in a forlorn way, longing for a glimpse of her. Yet she was never there – at any rate, not at the time he was. Bold became more and more disconsolate. He never mentioned her again to Robber, but the wily crow knew how the wind blew in that quarter. Of course he refrained from saying anything.
Then one evening Bold thought he spotted her. There was certainly an animal moving around at the far end of the garden, shadow-like in the gloom. Bold stared into the darkness until his weak eye ached. He sniffed the air for a clue, but the creature was downwind and he could not catch the scent. If only he could jump! Bold actually snarled in his aggravation. Then he remembered he could still dig.
He began to scrape at the soil in which the fence was sunk. It was quite soft and so he dug in earnest. Every now and again he paused to see if the animal had come any closer. Deeper and deeper went Bold’s tunnel, but still he could not seem to reach the bottom of the palings. Then he stopped digging, for the animal in the garden had come out into the open. It was the vixen, and she was approaching the bird-table to repeat her former trick. Bold resumed his digging.
