Run with the Wind

by Tom McCaughren

  Skulking Dog had lingered behind them, not catching up, not leaving off, not committing himself until he would see how things worked out. All the time Old Sage Brush was aware of his presence, but counselled the others to ignore him unless any of his indiscretions put the group in danger. Black Tip never left the old fox’s side, and Fang was never far behind. In general, Fang had turned out to be a great strength, not only to Old Sage Brush, but to Hop-along and the vixens. Vickey was hoping that he might mate with She-la, but she was not yet ready for a mate, and was as independent as any of the dog foxes. Perhaps this was why Old Sage Brush was in no hurry to force the issue with Skulking Dog. He knew that when the time came for She-la to take a mate Skulking Dog wouldn’t be long in coming in to join them. He also knew the problems that could cause, as the other two dogs — Fang and Hop-along — wouldn’t like the idea of such an attractive she-fox going to an outsider.

  At first the group travelled and hunted by night, but they found that this slowed them down too much. Hunting required a lot of time, depending as it did on opportunity as much as anything else. It was something that couldn’t be rushed or confined to a particular part of the night. At the same time it wasn’t safe for so many of them to travel by day. Realising this, Old Sage Brush came up with the idea that they would get what food they could during the day and travel by the light of the moon, or as they call it, gloomglow. In between, they would get what sleep they needed.

  It was also agreed, after much discussion, that they should try and find their food in the wild, rather than risk bringing farmers’ dogs out after them. Not being in on these decisions, however, Skulking Dog was unaware that, except for very special reasons, farmyards were now out of bounds to those who would seek the secret of survival.

  Skulking Dog, as the others had rightly guessed that first night under Beech Paw, was indeed a loner, a strong dog fox whose stealth and courage always provided him with plenty. However, he was inclined to rely too much on his physical ability and not enough on the cunning brain that the great god Vulpes had given him. If the others hadn’t the courage to take food from the farmyards, he wasn’t going to pass them by.

  He too was forced to forage by day, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to keep up with the others, and this made his visits to the farms doubly dangerous. Yet he was a good hunter, and escaped attention until one day he had what he thought was the good fortune to find a chicken-run. Everything went well until he pounced on his first chicken. Immediately, the other chickens scattered into flight, banging into the wire and falling and screeching in panic. Seeing so many chickens at his mercy, Skulking Dog threw caution to the wind and in a frenzy of excitement snapped the head off every chicken he could find, before grabbing one and squeezing back out through the wire.

  It was only when a hail of lead went whizzing over his head that he found the clamour had brought the farmer running out of the house with his shotgun. Realising his mistake, he fled with lead shot singing through the rushes behind him and the farmer’s dogs in hot pursuit. Then he made his second mistake. Instead of taking a wide circle, he ran towards the other foxes. They too were forced to flee, and it was only after many miles of dangerous daylight flight that they managed to shake off their pursuers.

  Old Sage Brush was very annoyed, and at gloomglow sent Black Tip and Fang to bring Skulking Dog in.

  Whether it was because Skulking Dog realised the error of his ways, or because he’d had such a narrow escape, he now felt there might be safety in numbers after all, and allowed the two dog foxes to take him to Old Sage Brush.

  The old fox was blunt. He told Skulking Dog that if he didn’t join them, he must leave them. They could no longer tolerate him putting the whole group in danger. If he wanted to see how a chicken farm should be raided, he would show him. Reluctantly, Skulking Dog agreed to join them.

  After putting a few more miles between themselves and the farmer’s dogs, just to be on the safe side, they came to an area of scrub-covered hills. It was an ideal place for foxes, and they hoped they might come upon a local fox, or maybe even a badger, who could brief them on the area and show them where to get food. As in so many other places, however, the foxes and the badgers had gone. Under the gorse on the side of one hill, they found a deserted badger set and took refuge in its maze of tunnels and chambers. Badgers, they had found, were first-class home-builders, and the set was warm and dry and very clean.

  As Skulking Dog curled up in a chamber at the back of the earth and sulked, Old Sage Brush assigned Fang to the chamber nearest the entrance where he could keep guard, while he himself retired to another part of the earth to rest. Vickey could see that the flight from the dogs had been a great ordeal for someone of his age. If she was to be his inspiration, she thought, now was the time. Black Tip had gone up to check with Fang that everything was in order and Hop-along and She-la were dozing. Vickey slipped quietly up to the chamber where the old fox was resting and nudged his cheek.

  ‘Sage Brush,’ she whispered. ‘Are you all right?’

  The old fox nodded. ‘Just tired.’

  ‘And just a little bit angry?’ asked Vickey soothingly.

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Don’t worry’ said Vickey. ‘It’s over now’

  ‘But it could have meant death for some of us. It would be different if we were all equal; if we were all strong like Fang and Black Tip

  ‘What’s that you say about Black Tip?’

  ‘Ah, come in Black Tip,’ said Old Sage Brush. ‘I was just saying to Vickey, it would be different if we were all young and strong like you, but we’re not. I’m old and weak and Hop-along has to make do with three legs. So we must act in such a way that our weaknesses are not exposed to our enemies.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’ asked Black Tip.

  ‘Well, Skulking Dog has agreed to give us his company, but not his mind. Inside he’s still a lone dog, and so long as he continues to think and act like that we remain in danger.’

  ‘How do we change his mind?’ asked Vickey.

  ‘I don’t know yet. Somehow we’ll have to show him that his ways are the ways of death.’

  ‘But isn’t it our nature to hunt alone?’ said Black Tip. ‘Perhaps it’s just that Skulking Dog doesn’t know you as we do ….’

  ‘And thinks I’m too old and weak to be his leader?’ Old Sage Brush considered that before adding: ‘Then Skulking Dog must be shown. As Vulpes in his cunning has said, the ivy plant may be too weak to stand alone, but it can overcome the strongest tree.’

  Vickey and Black Tip smiled at each other. It gladdened their hearts to see the strength returning to the old fox, and with it the quaint expression of his wisdom.

  Returning from a hunting trip, Black Tip and Fang reported hearing a large gathering of poultry in the area. They also brought back two strange eggs they had found in the ruins of an old house — strange, because no matter how much they tried, they couldn’t crush the shells.

  None of the others had seen eggs like them before. They were the same shape as all hen eggs, maybe a bit shinier, and there was a small hole in each. Perhaps, She-la suggested, something had sucked the yolks out. Could be, they thought, but why then were the shells so hard?

  Old Sage Brush, when consulted, couldn’t shed much light on the matter, apart from the fact that he recalled having seen eggs like them before. As a young fox, he said, he had found them occasionally in nest boxes, and indeed his cubs had played with them, but he hadn’t come across them for a long time now.

  What the foxes had found were imitation eggs made of delft that someone had put in a nest box to encourage hens to lay. Thinking they were real eggs, another fox had taken them, then discarded them.

  While Hop-along and the two vixens amused themselves with the strange eggs, Old Sage Brush put Fang in charge of the earth and went out with Black Tip and Skulking Dog to investigate. He was afraid of what Skulking Dog might get up to in his absence, if he left him behind. He also sensed that perhaps an op
portunity was about to present itself to teach him a lesson. Not far from the earth, the sound of many hens brought them to a halt.

  ‘It’s coming from the other side of that hill,’ said Black Tip.

  ‘Okay, lead on,’ said Old Sage Brush, ‘and Skulking Dog keep close behind. Don’t do anything until I tell you to.’

  At the top of the hill there was a gap in the gorse, and there they concealed themselves among the fronds of withered bracken.

  ‘Tell me what you see Black Tip,’ whispered Old Sage Brush.

  ‘Down in the hollow, there are three long sheds, and outside two of them is a big funnel. In the first one, that’s the one without a funnel, I can see rows and rows of eggs, and new born chicks.’

  ‘What can you see in the next one?’

  A workman opened the door of the shed long enough for Black Tip to get a look at the inside.

  ‘I see many wire cages, and each cage seems to be filled with four or five hens,’

  ‘And the next one?’

  ‘I can’t see into it at the moment. But wait

  Several men came around the corner carrying empty buckets, opened the door and went in. Black Tip could see that inside the shed many white hens scratched and cackled, but although the door was partly open, they made no attempt to come out. A few minutes later the men emerged with the buckets full of eggs and closed the door behind them.

  ‘What else do you see?’

  ‘Nothing else.’

  ‘Now Skulking Dog,’ said Old Sage Brush, ‘look around and tell me what you see.’

  ‘Hills,’ said Skulking Dog. ‘Plenty of cover …’ He made to get up.

  ‘Lie down,’ ordered Old Sage Brush. ‘Just tell me what you see.’

  ‘A little brown hen,’ said Skulking Dog, quivering with excitement. ‘She’s scratching among the gorse on the other hill over there.’

  ‘Now,’ said the old fox, ‘what would you do if you were to fill your belly?’

  ‘Take the little brown hen.’

  ‘And what about the other hens?’

  Skulking Dog was about to say he could maybe nip in and get one, when he remembered what had happened the last time he had tried something like that.

  ‘Even if you were able to snatch one,’ said Old Sage Brush, reading his mind, ‘you would only get enough for yourself. What would you do Black Tip?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’d have to think about it.’

  ‘Exactly. Well, you stay here Black Tip and observe everything that happens. We’ll go back to the earth and tell the others what we’ve seen, and we’ll all think about it.’

  While Black Tip settled down to watch the hatchery — and the little brown hen — Skulking Dog led Old Sage Brush back to the earth. The others were still playing with the shiny eggs when they arrived.

  ‘What we have to figure out,’ Old Sage Brush told them, ‘is how to get enough hens out of there to feed all of us, without drawing man down upon us.’

  ‘It’s not possible,’ said Skulking Dog. ‘If it was, why have other foxes not done it? They’ve all moved on because they knew there was no point in staying.’

  ‘Let’s all think about it and see what we can come up with,’ said Old Sage Brush. ‘Skulking Dog, you talk it over with Hop-along and She-la. Vickey, maybe you would like to go over and keep Black Tip company, and if you see anything worthwhile, come back and tell me. This requires much thought.’

  Old Sage Brush retired to his chamber. Maybe, he thought, they should be getting back to Beech Paw. At the same time, maybe he was being given this opportunity to demonstrate to Skulking Dog that the great god Vulpes had provided him with more between his ears than a mouthful of teeth. Most certainly it would save time in the long run if Skulking Dog could be brought into line now.

  The old fox thought long and hard, yet it wasn’t until Vickey returned to report that the little brown hen had visited her nest but hadn’t settled, that he got an idea.

  ‘Vickey,’ he said, ‘you are indeed my inspiration. Fetch Black Tip.’

  Old Sage Brush gathered his little group around him, and told them that with the aid of Vulpes — and Vickey — he had hit upon a plan. He didn’t tell them exactly what it was, just enough to set it in motion, as he wanted it to have the maximum effect on Skulking Dog.

  ‘Black Tip,’ he said, ‘you and Skulking Dog take these shiny eggs up to the hill and leave them in the coldest, frostiest place you can find. After a while, steal up to the hill again, to the nest of the little brown hen.’ He thought for a moment. He had no way of knowing that hens, unlike foxes, have very little sense of smell. However, he did know that birds could often tell if anything had been at their nest, and he didn’t want to arouse the suspicions of the little brown hen, so he told them: ‘Take the shiny eggs and put them in the nest. But be careful you don’t disturb it. If there are any of her own eggs in it, bring them back. We can have those for a start. Then I’ll tell you what to do next.’

  Black Tip and Skulking Dog did as they were told.

  That evening in the dusk before gloomglow, Old Sage Brush despatched Fang to the sheds in the hollow, and sent Black Tip and Skulking Dog back up the hill to where the little brown hen had her nest beneath a gorse bush. A hard frost had set in, and a freezing wind was cutting across the hill.

  While Fang roamed around the sheds, disturbing the white hens and keeping them awake, Black Tip and Skulking Dog crawled quietly through the undergrowth until they were near the little brown hen. They could see she hadn’t settled down for the night. She was still scratching about, complaining to herself about the hard ground and the frost. When at last she did settle into the nest, she felt what she thought were her eggs, as cold as two lumps of ice. Jumping up with a loud cackle, she walked around for a few moments before returning to the nest and flicking them out with her beak.

  Old Sage Brush had predicted that the coldness of the eggs would start the little brown hen thinking about the warm sheds in the hollow. Even if it did, they had no idea what purpose it would serve. The old fox hadn’t told them. The little brown hen shifted uncomfortably in her nest. It had been a very hard winter on the hill. Never before had she known it to be so cold. She had hoped to have a brood of chicks to keep her company. Sadly, none of her eggs had hatched and it seemed her latest ones had turned to stone. She got out of her nest and pecked at the two delft eggs the foxes had left in place of her own. They were indeed as hard as stones. To make matters worse, she could now hear for the first time in a long while, the barking of foxes across on the other hill.

  In their hiding place nearby, Black Tip and Skulking Dog looked at each other. They knew the barking was more of Old Sage Brush’s work.

  Settling back into her nest, the little brown hen shivered and wondered what she would do. She could hear the hens cackling away in the sheds in the hollow. She thought how she had often seen the eggs there, and the fluffy little day-old chicks. Through the partly-open door of one shed she had also seen the white hens eating and drinking and sitting in their warm nest boxes. They didn’t have to worry about foxes or to scratch and scrape for food the way she had. They had other hens to keep them company, and cockerels too. They had a warm nest at night and their eggs brought forth chickens. Maybe, she thought, it was time to give up this hard and lonely life on the hill. She knew that every day when the men came to visit the shed, they left the door just a little bit open. If she was quick, perhaps she could hop inside and no one would notice.

  Next morning, when the men with the buckets went into the third shed, Black Tip and Skulking Dog watched from the bracken. Sure enough, they saw the little brown hen scurrying across to the shed and slipping through the partly-open door.

  Old Sage Brush was pleased, and told them that all they had to do now was wait for results. Privately he prayed that his plan would work. Experience had taught him that creatures were never happy with what they had; they always felt that others were better off than they were. In the case of the little brown hen, he b
elieved she would soon realise how well-off she had been on the hill. He only hoped it wouldn’t take her too long.

  Down in the shed, the little brown hen found herself in more company than she ever dreamed of. There were hundreds of hens and cockerels. There was food and drink any time she wanted it, and warm nest boxes around the walls. She made friends with many other hens, and with a young cockerel. The cockerel was surprised he hadn’t noticed her before, and she could see he was attracted to her.

  In spite of all this, the novelty of the shed quickly wore off, just as Old Sage Brush thought it would. There was always pushing and shoving to get to the food that was poured into the large funnel and carried along a trough in the shed. Even when she could get at the food, it always tasted the same. While she thought the shed was warm at first, she now found it stuffy and overcrowded. She couldn’t sit in a nest box any time she wanted, or even as long as she liked. Others had to use them too. How she longed for her own little nest under the gorse bush and the stars, with the wild wind caressing her soft brown feathers.

  Seeing that she was unhappy, some of the other hens, and the young cockerel, asked her what was wrong. Naturally she told them of her life on the hill, where she was free to come and go as she pleased, eat what food she liked, and had a nest of her own. Of course, this was all new to the others, who were aware of no other world outside the shed where they had been reared. The more the little hen talked of the freedom she had enjoyed on the hill, the more the others realised the extent of their enslavement and the more they longed for the other way of life.

  How well Old Sage Brush knew his fellow creatures. Some of these birds, who had never even thought of venturing outside the shed before, now wanted to leave with the little brown hen, and that evening, when the men left the door partly open again, that’s exactly what they did. Unnoticed, seven or eight of them followed her out and up to the hill. However the little brown hen had only told them of all the good things in the wild, and had forgotten to tell them of its dangers. Consequently, the silly hatchery hens walked not to freedom, but into the jaws of Old Sage Brush and the other foxes. As for the little brown hen, she knew better. She escaped to her old haunts, together with her admiring young cockerel.