After recent heavy rain and flooding, I took Blitz out for a walk in the yard this morning while everything was still frozen. As we crossed the bridge over our creek, I saw it.
A dead fox in our yard.
I was not prepared for that. Since we moved here, I’ve seen my share of dead things: mice and moles killed by the neighbor’s barn cat. A dead snake. Dead birds. Bones. Piles of feathers left after a hawk attack. Even dismembered rabbit parts. Last month, I had to remove a dead rabbit from our driveway. Its blood stained the gravel for days afterward.
But a fox… It shook me.
My husband dealt with it. He laid it to rest somewhere in our woods where I won’t see it on my walks back there. He told me it looks like it was shot in the stomach, and that upsets me even more. The thought that someone shot it and it suffered and died in our yard. I can’t bear it.
I’m so sorry, little fox. I’m sorry for human cruelty. I’m sorry you died in pain.
I Found a Dead Fox — Mary Oliver
I found a dead fox
beside the gravel road,
curled inside the big
iron wheel
of an old tractor
that has been standing,
for years,
in the vines at the edge
of the road.
I don’t know
what happened to it –
when it came there
or why it lay down
for good, settling
its narrow chin
on the rusted rim
of the iron wheel
to look out
over the fields,
and that way died –
but I know
this: its posture –
of looking,
to the last possible moment,
back into the world –
made me want
to sing something
joyous and tender
about foxes.
But what happened is this –
when I began,
when I crawled in
through the honeysuckle
and lay down
curling my long spine
inside that cold wheel,
and touched the dead fox,
and looked out
into the wide fields,
the fox
vanished.
There was only myself
and the world,
and it was I
who was leaving.
And what could I sing
then?
Oh, beautiful world!
I just lay there
and looked at it.
And then it grew dark.
That day was done with.
And then the stars stepped forth
and held up their appointed
fires –
those hot, hard
watchmen of the night.
Karyn Johnson 