Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, June 20, 1994 TAG: 9406240014
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A5 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Monty S. Leitch
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
It was a big, beautiful, fat fox, with a lush, floating tail. A gray fox, I think, but it was nearly dark, so I can't be sure. I stood quietly on the porch and watched, until something prompted the fox to trot back into the brush, out of sight.
We haven't seen a fox in the yard for years. But there was a time when a fox visited us so regularly that we came to mark time by her. She was a piquant, saucy red fox, and we knew summer was truly full when she came to feed under our tree.
We started calling her "she" the third or fourth summer of our acquaintance. That year, early, she appeared as round as a little barrel. For a week or so, she puttered about as if aware of, or bothered by, her extra weight. And then, quite suddenly, she was her sleek self again.
We never saw her pups, but we were sure they were snuggled in a nearby den. Because that summer, Ms. Fox claimed her berries with new authority. That summer, she tolerated no nonsense.
In earlier years, we'd sometimes seen her down in the field, nose to nose with our cat. They'd seemed to be playing a kind of cautious tag. But the summer of her pups, Ms. Fox was all business, and brazen enough to come under the tree - only a few feet from the porch - even while we chatted.
We had houseguests that June, who brought with them a spoiled spaniel. The dog, naturally, ran the cats up fence posts and sniffed her way into every corner of the yard. When she wasn't worrying cats or rabbits, she lolled on the porch with us, a human pretender.
One steamy evening, while we lolled together, the fox trotted up to her tree. She knew we were there on the porch - she looked right at us - but, apparently, didn't care. She had berries to eat.
Of course, that citified spaniel's ears pricked up. "What kind of dog is that?" You could almost hear her say it. She bustled into the yard to take a look.
Ms. Fox was at first astonished, and then rattled. Her head flew up in alarm. She raced off into the weeds.
The gleeful, ignorant spaniel, thinking herself triumphant, danced around the tree. "Hurrah! Hurrah!"
But Ms. Fox had not fled. She'd merely re-evaluated her position. In minutes, she returned to the yard, planted her feet, pointed her nose, and launched into a tongue-lashing of monumental proportion.
The stunned spaniel retreated to cower at our feet. The fox barked and barked. Finally, abashed, we all retired to the house.
At which point, Ms. Fox returned to her tree and finished her dinner.
That was the last summer Ms. Fox visited us. It's easy to think of reasons why she didn't return the next year, most of them reasons I've forborne imagining. Consequently, last week when I saw the fox in the yard, I thought ... for just a second ...
Of course, it couldn't have been she. But it was a dulcet moment nonetheless. Time looping back. A fond remembrance.
We were newly wed the summer Ms. Fox blessed us out, and I thought that year the sweetest of my life. It's been my great good fortune to have been proved wrong. Thus, today, our anniversary, I once again mark time by a fox. The older the fruit, the sweeter the wine.
Monty S. Leitch is a Roanoke Times & World-News columnist.
by CNB