On Saturday, twelfth of February, I decided to take myself off, for an hour or so, to stroll the town's riverside path. Just a little exercise to stretch the legs and break the tedium of the day. So, I made myself a coffee, poured it into a small travel mug, and left the flat.
Not in the mood for a demanding hike, I set myself a leisurely pace, with no destination in mind. Coffee in hand, and no place to be, I thought I would probably find a bench somewhere, and sip the rich hot beverage, listening to some of the birdsong - the cascading robin song and tit calls - with waterfowl gliding by. A satisfyingly lazy riverside stroll.
The path itself is a cakewalk for the most part (pictured above); paved, and with no undulating sections to really test a casual walker. There is, unfortunately, dog mess and rubbish to be found in some sections, which detracts from the pleasantness of the walk. A depressingly familiar aspect of the landscape; it's a real shame that sometimes the most colourful features of the green spaces around us are not flowers, but the garish colours of aluminium and plastic containers, discarded by lazy passers by.
Some way into my walk, I heard the whining, keening, bark of a dog up ahead. The high-pitched bark of a dog somewhere between excitement and distress. Then, as I emerged from under an overpass and took a slight turn in the path, I spotted a group of people ahead. A woman was holding a dog, a large breed, and she was with people I assumed were her family. They were standing on one side of the path and, on the opposite side, in front of a tree, sat something dog-shaped. The woman and her group were standing back, a respectful distance from the animal near the tree, their eyes on the canid sitting there. I thought I had perhaps stumbled upon the discovery of an abandoned dog.
My conclusion changed as I came nearer . . .
Nearing the scene, there was no mistaking the animal's true identity; the brush tail, the red fur - a fox!
Awe-struck by the brilliance of the creature, and confused by his - for it was a dog fox - behaviour; just sitting there by this well-used path, I lost any wit and social grace I could ever lay claim to . . .
"Is it all right?" I asked the woman, her excited dog still keening at the end of its lead.
She told me the fox had a bad leg, that it had been beside the river for a while, and that she had called the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (RSPCA). They had asked whether somebody would be able to remain on the scene, keeping an eye on the animal. Unfortunately, she had to leave, but I had nowhere to be, so I decided to stay. A young pair, separate from her group were also there, and also volunteered to stay.
I had grown up in the countryside, where I had seen some of the elites of British wildlife. Kestrel, buzzards, and deer, I had seen from my windows! But, most of the time, my view of a fox was its famous brush disappearing into hedgerow or grasses. But, this fox, sitting there beside a path used day and night by cyclists, walkers, and runners, was feet away!
It became apparent that this poor fox was mobile, he could move, but there was a noticeable limp in one of his hind legs and, when he did stand, he sometimes lifted the foot off the ground. However, despite being able to move, he was not moving far, and was not leaving the path. A concern because, as mentioned, it's a well-used path and, if he remained, he could have come to further harm.
It was a bittersweet situation - joyous, because I was stunned by the handsomeness of the animal, this icon of our landscape, but concerning, because of its situation and behaviour.
The fox is an animal that elicits tremendous responses from British people. Apparently loved and loathed in equal measure. It is an animal that has been mythologised, politicised, and debated. I did have some concerns that anti-fox folk might pass by at some point, and I had a slight fear of what the poor thing might have to endure if that happened. But, thankfully, the worst that had to be navigated were a couple of dog walkers approaching the scene. And, when they were warned that an injured fox was on the path, they all responded well.
Some walkers seemed hesitant to pass when they spotted the fox, perhaps fearful of this unfamiliar thing. Others seemed shocked that the canid was as small as he was, despite his being pretty typical for the species. He drew the attention of passing photographers too.
The hour's time limit for my walk that I had had in mind when I left the flat was quickly forgotten. Time snowballed, and I ended up staying for hours. Passersby came and went. Some stayed for a while, some snapped pictures and left. Photographers, stayed the longest, long lenses pointed at the fox, catching each gift of a moment.
The fox itself, surprisingly, seemed little disturbed by our presence. We, a small group consisting of myself, two photographers, and a young woman, who had stayed with the fox, maintained a respectful distance but, as time past, the fox became quite inquisitive himself, approaching for a little sniff and inspection. He was quiet, made no sound at all, and moved deliberately.
Chris, one of the photographers there, pointed out that, appearing to be a first year fox, perhaps he had been turned away from a den, and he simply did not know where to take himself.
In January, you might very well hear their haunting screams on the winter night air, as they call out during their mating season, and as they breed. And, with the gestation period for red foxes being around fifty days, new litters will be produced around March. A very good reason for parent foxes to kick out any remaining foxes from the previous year's litter - the efforts of the parents need to be invested in the young, new born cubs.
As the day neared its end, we had to make the decision to leave. Unfortunately, an RSPCA officer had not appeared and, with the fox still not leaving the path and at a disadvantage because of its hind leg, it was a hard decision to make, but we couldn't stay into the night.
Walking away was terribly difficult.
However, the next day, I was informed - having had the incredible foresight to get the contact details of at least one other person who had been there - that the RSPCA had arrived in the evening, after the last of us had left. The update was that he, the fox, had been taken away and would be cared for until he was fit enough for release!
I hope that he will get a good chance at life now. He privileged me, and others, with one of the most intimate and precious moments I have ever experienced with British nature and wildlife. As I said, it was bittersweet, but the sheer joy at having been allowed to share this fox's space was a real treat, a gift. And, for that, I hope that this fox gets his best chance at life, for I am grateful to him for a moment I will cherish a long time yet!
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