LEARNING TO HUNT
The pup went to sleep beside his mother in a bed of leaves under a
fallen tree. With her there, he did not feel cold nor miss the other
pups so much. He wondered where they were and would not have been
surprised had they joined him at any moment; but his mother knew they
were gone forever. Her joy at having this one little fellow left to her
was almost pitiful. All through the long night she cuddled and tenderly
licked him.
Just as the sky began to brighten for the day, she slipped out to get a
drink and something to eat. A little distance from the fallen tree was a
path. Here she made her first stop, to examine the ground and find out
what creatures had passed that way during the night. Moving slowly, with
her keen nose to the earth, she suddenly became aware of something
following her. Around she whirled with teeth bared for defense, only to
find herself looking into the mild, half ashamed eyes of the pup who,
too lonely to stay in the bed, had noiselessly crept after her.
He hung his head now and looked wistfully at his mother until she licked
his nose to show she forgave him and would let him come with her. In
this way he started on his first big hunt.
A rabbit had travelled the path shortly before them, so the mother moved
with caution. Whenever she sniffed at the fresh tracks, the pup, who
followed close at her heels, sniffed too and understood perfectly well
that a rabbit was near. When she at last sighted Bunny and crouched, the
pup copied her movement exactly, and when she leaped he sprang too, all
atremble with excitement. The old rabbit jumped quickly enough to get
away, but the pup saw him and enjoyed all the thrills of his first
chase.
Farther on they met a black and white skunk ambling home to his den. The
pup, seeing him far ahead, crouched in readiness for attack. Here was a
beautiful creature, no larger than the rabbit, actually coming towards
him as though it wanted to be caught for breakfast. It never occurred to
him that the skunk was a privileged character in the woods, whom foxes
as well as smaller and larger animals had learned to let pass with
plenty of room between. The mother, however, knew all about skunks and
saw that trouble was coming. She rushed at the pup, nipped his ear and
fairly shouldered him out of the way of the other animal.
The skunk saw at once that all the disturbance was only over a young fox
who had not sense enough to know that every path belonged to him.
Therefore, he passed grandly, without even slackening his pace or
changing his direction one inch.
[Illustration: "He became indignant"]
The pup, sniffing along the trail behind him, caught a disagreeable,
musky smell which told, far better than his eyes could, that this animal
was to be left alone. He followed him very carefully at what seemed a
safe distance, until he became indignant and whirled half around with
feathery tail straight in the air. That was warning enough to satisfy
even the pup's inquisitive mind, so he turned back with a bound and
found his mother sitting in the path amusedly watching him. She saw that
the little fox had already learned caution--the most important lesson of
the woods.
A few yards farther they circled a marshy place where spring frogs were
singing merrily; "peep, peep--peep," they sang, over and over again.
There seemed to be one piping from the bank, almost under the pup's
nose, but he could not find it, nor could he find any of the others, for
they were in the water with only their small noses and eyes stuck out
behind the blades of grass and twigs.
[Illustration: Coon Tracks]
The old fox examined the mud for tracks, satisfied herself that those
she found were made by a coon and not by man or dog, then turned to look
for the pup. He was in the act of springing on something he had found in
the grass. Up went his front paws, and then down he came right on top of
a mouse which had been feeding on winter dried cranberries clinging to
vines near the water. The pup had smelled it and found its hiding place
all by himself. Now he tussled with the furry little creature until it
had squeaked its last squeak.
The mother let him eat it all, then led away to Goose Creek. Here the
incautious pup surprised a great blue heron in the act of catching a
minnow. With a mighty flapping of big wings the scared bird started over
the water, his long legs tucked up under his tail, his neck doubled
back, so that it seemed only half its real length. When he got well
away, his angry challenge--"u-r-g-h-h-, u-r-g-h, urgh, urgh"--could be
heard all over Cranberry Swamp, warning his mate and all the other birds
and animals, too, that there was danger lurking near.
A red squirrel ran out on a limb nearby to see what had disturbed the
old fisherman. Two crows circled cautiously in that direction, a pair of
wood ducks sprang from a pool below and winged their way up the creek
towards a safer feeding ground; the frogs stopped peeping, and the lone
kingfisher, sitting on a stub in the stream, enjoying the first rays of
the morning sun, darted away with a rattling scream.
It was a wonderful lesson to the pup. It taught him that he must be
careful not to disturb any creature that can spread alarm and excite the
whole wood. It awoke in him the true fox nature which prompts the wisest
of them to travel with all the noiseless stealth of a crafty Indian. He
found out then what he saw more and more clearly the longer he lived,
that there is a bond joining together the woods folk into one great
family, for mutual protection.
He was the one feared, the outcast, this time; but at another time it
might be a man with a gun, or a big hound, whom he would flee from, when
warned, with the same dread as Blue Heron.
Now, he slunk back of some bushes and waited there while the noise and
excitement died down.
Red Squirrel, however, kept his bright eyes on him, and fussed and
scolded, without a stop. To him the branches were just like so many
paths, over which he could run like the wind from one tree to another,
until he reached the little hole in the hollow cedar he lived in, or
dashed to another safe little hole under the roots of a magnolia, not
far away. Therefore, when he was off the ground, why should he fear a
fox, especially a young one like this? "Bur-r-r-r-r-r-r," he fairly
shouted as he danced and fumed first on one limb, then on one nearer,
until so close overhead that the fox could see the four sharp teeth with
which he gnawed nuts so easily.
There was something, however, which Red Squirrel had not thought about.
With a young fox, or with any young animal, there is usually a mother.
The annoying little nut eater had one glimpse of a red streak flinging
itself at him from behind, then in a fright he lost his footing on the
low limb, fell into the bushes, and had to run with all his might to get
up the next tree without being punished. Very quiet after that, he let
the foxes trot off unmolested.