Vicky was only two months old when we fetched her from that grey house in Bourne. As soon as we returned I took her into the kitchen to introduce her to Sally (our dog) and Hym (our fully grown male fox). Sally was her usual friendly self and tried to comfort the new fox cub by licking her. Vicky was nervous and so she shrank back and made spitting noises, ‘Ack! Ack! Ack!’ Hym didn’t do any thing apart from ignore her. He gave the impression that he was above such matters: that he was too large and regal and Vicky too small and dirty (initially, she did smell a bit!) for him to have any interest in her.
As she was about the right size, I placed her in a shoebox lined with some warm rags. My brothers, Nigel and Mark, and my sister, Lindy, all crowded round to get a look at her and stroke her. However, having seen my bandaged hand they weren’t as silly as me and didn’t put their hands too close. Vicky peaked out from her shoebox, made more ‘Ack! Ack! Ack!’ sounds and tried to bite all three of them!
Of course, though I have been calling her Vicky, on that first day she hadn’t been given a name. That came a few days later. I suggested Vicky after reading a book about a tame vixen called by that name. My father wasn’t too enthusiastic as we had a rather sensitive auntie called Vicky who might be offended - thinking that we named the fox after her! However, I think he enjoyed the thought of vexing her, so he went along with my suggestion - and Vicky she became.
During the first week I spent all day curled up next to her, trying to coax her with tidbits of food - she loved pieces of raw liver! At first she kept making more ‘Ack! Ack! Ack!’ sounds, but I persevered and eventually, whilst wolfing down some of her favourite liver, she allowed me to stroke her. Once she grew used to my voice and touch she started to follow me around the house - something Hym had never done. She even took to curling up on my lap and sleeping like a cat.
Within a month Vicky was completely relaxed in my company. She would even go for walks in the fields with me. And unlike Hym, Vicky followed willingly, like Sally our dog, without needing to be kept on a lead. The other advantage she had over Hym was she would follow me home. Hym would never walk home. As soon as he realised we were heading homeward he would politely sit down and not move another muscle. Even if you dragged him by the collar he refused to follow you -even one step. The only way to get him home was carry him! A tiresome chore for a ten year old. After three years of carrying a fully-grown fox home it was an immense relief to have the new one simply follow me back like Sally, our dog.
The summer I spent with Vicky was one of the happiest of my life. I took her on long walks through leafy green lanes. We would bundle our way through hedgerows and hop over stiles; explore the dales and woodlands, rustic with the smell of mouldering leaves and fungi. We would shelter under trees from the summer rain and she would poke her nose into molehills and dig with furious but vain intent. I even took her fishing with me and would feed her small minnows when I caught them. And when we returned home we would collapse in exhaustion, together like best friends.
She trusted me completely and I grew to love her. I cared more for Vicky than anything else in my life. I wanted her to know how much she was loved, and I would spend hours stroking her behind the ears, scratching her under the chin and occasionally feeding her bits of liver. Sometimes I would even hold her head up and look straight into her face and try and transmit my love for her through my eyes and into hers.
Sadly, although I got along perfectly with Vicky, my father did not. Neither liked the other very much. He found her too domesticated: too tame. He preferred Hym because he was still partly wild, untamed. Hym only felt comfortable in the countryside, not in our house. Hym would also follow my father home - without being carried! But with Vicky and my father this bond was never cemented. Whenever my father took her outside she would try and escape from him.
One morning, six months after Vicky arrived into my life, I was awakened early with the worst news I could have ever imagined. The previous night, Vicky had run away from my father. By the morning she still hadn’t returned home. I dressed quickly, throwing on the first shirt I grabbed and tumbled into a pair of trousers - I had to get out into the fields and try and find her - my head spinning with anxiety. I had lost the thing I treasured more than anything in the world. Vicky was missing…
..next episode of VICKY THE FOX CUB: Part Three
The call of the wild.
A humorous look at the world and life through my eyes.
Follow the author and his wife, as they travel the world …. several times over.
Laugh at their funny stories, self-inflicted crazy events, strange observations, wacky zoo facts and snippets
Fractured Frazzled Folk Fables and Fairy Farces is adult literature that satirizes famous children's stories, fables and fairy tales. The work is Jay Dubya's twenty-first e-book available in Amazon Kindle and Barnes and Noble Nook.
