Owls Aren't Wise and Bats Aren't Blind (31 page)

Red foxes also exhibit at least two other types of hunting behavior. When a fox sights a small bird or tree squirrel on the ground, it employs a technique quite different from that used in mousing. Crouching very low, the fox stalks closer, apparently less concerned with being totally silent than with remaining invisible to the prey as long as possible. As it draws nearer to its prey, the fox speeds up its approach until it’s actually running in the crouched position, then pounces at its intended victim and attempts to seize it in its mouth. More often than not, of course, the bird takes wing or the squirrel darts up a tree before the fox can capture it.

Yet another strategy comes into play when the fox hunts rabbits and hares. First it crouches down to stalk as close as possible, and then, when the prey sights the fox and flees, the fox attempts to run it down. The rabbit or hare takes evasive action, and the high-speed chase continues until the fox either gives up the pursuit or succeeds in bringing down its quarry.

One stratagem purportedly used by foxes is called “charming.” According to oft-repeated accounts of this behavior, a fox sights potential prey—a rabbit or duck, for example—and proceeds to perform a series of antics to entice the curious prey close enough that the fox can pounce on it. These antics include rolling, tumbling, leaping, and chasing the tail, and reputedly mesmerize or “charm” the prey—hence the term.

This seems a dubious proposition at best. The red fox responds to prey instinctively, using one of the techniques already discussed—not by performing a series of antics. Further, prey such as rabbits normally shy away from movement and from the unknown, rather than being hypnotized by it. It’s also interesting that Henry, who has observed and analyzed the hunting behavior of large numbers of red foxes over the years, makes no mention of this behavior.

That isn’t to say this type of incident has never occurred, however. As with many other mammals, foxes can indulge in what appears to be playlike behavior, running about, leaping, rolling, and tumbling. It’s possible that under such circumstances a particularly curious and unwary individual of a prey species might draw closer and closer to see what was going on. If a hungry fox spotted the prey at that point, it would likely pounce on it. Whether such reported incidents are authentic is debatable, but fox behavior under such circumstances is almost certainly not a planned artifice for capturing a meal.

For a long time there was a debate over the origin of the red fox in North America, and many believed that the red fox was not native here. It was known that English settlers, anxious to continue their pastime of hunting foxes on horseback, had imported red foxes from England during the early period of European colonization. According to this theory, those imported red foxes multiplied and spread, as the continent continued to be colonized by Europeans. Red fox fossils have, however, been found in North America that date to well before the arrival of Columbus, thereby firmly establishing this creature as native.

Ask a number of people how much they think an adult red fox weighs, and most will give answers in the range of thirty pounds or more. This is a gross overestimation (a common phenomenon in assessing wildlife size). A really big fox will weigh only about fifteen pounds, and ten to twelve pounds is more usual. The fox’s beautiful coat, relatively long legs, and magnificent brush combine to give an impression of much greater size, but a very small body resides within that handsome package.

Foxes can sometimes exhibit a playful nature. Golfers at one of our local courses still remember the pair of foxes that raised its litter in a den near a fairway. Whenever a golfer’s drive landed in the appropriate area, a fox would trot out of the brush, pick up the ball, and retire to its den. There doesn’t appear to be any biological reason for this behavior, other than pure enjoyment. Even if a fox mistook a golf ball for an egg the first time it encountered one, it would quickly learn better and abandon the practice. In this instance, the foxes continued to snatch golf balls throughout the summer. Regardless of the foxes’ motives, the golfers were inevitably too enchanted by the sight to mind the loss of a ball! I was also recently told of a family of foxes that behaved in similar fashion at another golf course. This trait may be analogous to similar behavior by crows and ravens, as noted in chapter 13.

Although red foxes are very catlike in the many ways already outlined, they have other characteristics besides general appearance which tie them closely to their dog family relatives. This is especially true in their mating habits and family life, where their canid characteristics are most prominently displayed.

About late January, red foxes begin to seek their mates. It’s easy to tell when the mating season has begun, at least in northern climes where there’s snow on the ground. Simply follow a fox track to a place where the fox has urinated; there, a very strong, almost skunklike odor—absent at other times—proclaims that mating is in session. This smell is pungent enough to be detected at some distance if the wind is in the right direction, and, once experienced a time or two, is almost unmistakable.

Fox mating involves a substantial amount of foreplay, some of it quite spectacular. After considerable playful chasing in a sort of fox version of tag, the male (called a dog fox) and the female (known as a vixen) stand erect on their hind legs and put their forepaws against each other, almost like dance partners. Then they may again race after each other and repeat the performance. This courtship behavior can continue for most of two weeks, until it finally culminates in the actual mating. Then the two temporarily split up to again become solitary hunters for a time. The dog fox will then rejoin the vixen, ready for parenting duties, before the young are born.

As the birth of the young approaches, the pair begins to prepare a natal den. Usually this is in soft, well-drained soil where the digging is easy, and often it’s an enlargement of a preexisting den dug by a woodchuck, a skunk, or even another fox. It may be in a pasture, a meadow, an abandoned field, or the edge of the woods, but it usually has some open space around it. The vixen commonly excavates several entrances, as well as various tunnels and chambers. An older vixen may have several natal dens within her territory, selecting one or another each year according to her mood.

The natal den, incidentally, is quite different from a much simpler type of den used for resting or escape from danger. Foxes usually have a number of these dens, which consist of a few feet of tunnel with a small chamber at the end. Here a fox can wait out a particularly bad spell of weather, such as a blizzard, or escape a variety of predators.

After a gestation of about fifty-two days, the vixen gives birth to a litter of three to six young, although larger litters sometimes occur. The little foxes are usually called kits, in another nod toward the fox’s catlike characteristics, though they’re also sometimes called pups or cubs. The vixen remains in the den for the first few days, nursing her kits. During this time her mate brings her food on a regular basis; this behavior is typical of the dog family, but not of cats. As the kits continue to grow and are gradually weaned, both parents hunt and bring them food.

If the den is disturbed at any time, or the parents feel that danger threatens, they’ll quickly abandon that den and move their kits to an alternate site, as I once had an opportunity to observe. I was mowing our lower field and suddenly became conscious of two adult foxes that alternately appeared, disappeared, then reappeared again. At first I simply attributed their behavior to the habit of following the mower to pick up mice. After a time, however, I noticed that they seemed quite agitated, though I had no idea why.

It wasn’t until we had baled the hay that I discovered the problem: the foxes had enlarged an old woodchuck hole in the middle of the field, and were clearly upset by our haying activities. Although I spent considerable time in concealment, watching the den, I never saw the foxes near it again, and it became obvious that they had abandoned it almost as soon as I began mowing nearby.

Initially the kits have a grayish coat, but after about five weeks it changes to a rather dull yellowish brown that usually blends well with the sandy soil around the mouth of the den. Around this time the kits also begin to eat small prey brought to the den by the parents.

Well before this, at less than four weeks, the kits begin to fight, often quite fiercely. This behavior continues for a number of days and isn’t, as many people think, mere playful roughhousing. Rather, it’s the means of establishing a dominance hierarchy, which has a great deal to do with which kits are fed first by the parents. If food happens to be particularly scarce, only the more dominant kits may survive, so this juvenile fighting is serious business.

As the summer wears on, the kits finally lose their brownish-tan color and are attired in the gorgeous orange-red coat which helps make the red fox, in the opinion of many, our most beautiful mammal. By this time the kits also begin to accompany their parents on hunting forays, and gradually start to forage a bit around the den in their parents’ absence.

When autumn arrives, the young foxes—no longer kits—are ready and able to fend for themselves. Then they disperse and seek new territories. No one has determined why young foxes disperse in the fall, but the young males depart first and travel the farthest in seeking new territory; this, incidentally, seems typical of many young mammals, and may be a way of preventing inbreeding.

If these dispersing young encounter other foxes with established territories, they’re apt to be in deep trouble. Foxes are highly territorial, and the resident dog fox or vixen will attack the intruder savagely and without warning. Though the youngster may flee, it may be caught and bitten one or more times before it manages to escape from the forbidden territory.

At some point a young male and female will enter a vacant territory and will locate each other. In this fashion another pair of foxes is joined, and the unending cycle that perpetuates the species continues.

In the days when free-ranging poultry were common, foxes had a bad reputation for snatching domestic fowl, as witness the delightful folk song that begins,

The fox went out on a chilly night, and prayed for the moon to give
him light.
He had many a mile to go that night, before he reached the town-o.
He ran till he came to a great big pen, the ducks and the geese were
kept therein.
“A couple of you will grease my chin, before I leave this town-o.”

Although such depredations were no doubt exaggerated at times, thereby obscuring the fox’s invaluable role in rodent control, some foxes unquestionably found ducks, geese, and hens easy pickings and took a heavy toll now and then on a farmer’s flock. Indeed, my earliest recollection of wildlife involved a fox that came visiting, evidently attracted by our flock of hens.

My mother hurried into my bedroom to tell me that there was a fox by the henhouse, and that my grandfather was going to shoot it—not unreasonably, since the fox’s proximity to the hens wasn’t a good omen for their future survival! We raced to the window, and I had a moment to view the handsome creature. Then there came the loud report of Grandpa’s gun. I must have blinked, and, presto! the fox vanished so swiftly that I never saw it go. Grandpa had obviously missed, but the fox clearly received the message, for it never returned.

A few years ago we experienced a far different sort of incident involving a fox and our domestic birds. At that time we had kept a small flock of free-ranging geese for several years, and our local foxes never bothered them. It was midwinter, with deep, soft snow, at the time of this event. We were awakened in the night by an ungodly honking and squawking from the little three-sided goose house just across the road.

I was in the midst of a nasty bout with the flu at that time, but I dragged myself out of bed the next morning to see what had happened. There was a dead and partly eaten goose, but the others were all missing. It turned out that they had flown to escape the danger and were here and there, floundering in the deep snow and unable to fly or make much progress by walking. They weren’t the only ones that floundered, either. Feeling sick and miserable, I had to wade in the deep snow to retrieve them, one by one. The tracks showed beyond a doubt that the culprit was a fox, and my opinion of foxes temporarily dropped to an all-time low.

About noon the following day, I heard another uproar from the goose house and ran to the window. There was a pathetically skinny, bedraggled fox chasing a goose across the road and through our open barn door. I ran for my deer rifle, and as I reached the porch, the fox emerged from the barn
sans
goose. One shot put an end to the wretched creature’s misery. It was in the last stages of mange, which was obviously going to be fatal within a short while, so I was happy to be able to end its suffering. That was the only time a fox ever bothered our geese, and no doubt this fox, too weak to catch its normal prey, went after them out of desperation.

Mange is by no means the only disease to afflict foxes. At times, rabies sweeps through fox populations, and in fact one of the most common strains of rabies is known as the fox strain. For this reason, humans should avoid contact with foxes, and should especially resist the temptation to rescue orphaned baby foxes. Any fox that acts in a suspicious fashion—excessively tame, aggressive, porcupine quills in its mouth, drooling, wandering about aimlessly, or other unusual behavior—should be strictly avoided and reported immediately to the proper authorities. If contact does occur with a fox, this should promptly be reported to health authorities so that the animal can, if possible, be tested for rabies, and the need for rabies shots for the person or persons involved be assessed by an expert.

Not all foxes that act sick have rabies, for the species is also susceptible to distemper. This can cause a fox to act exceedingly lethargic, drag its hindquarters, and exhibit other signs of illness. It should always be assumed, however, that such an animal is rabid, and contact with it should be carefully avoided.