The Fox and the Hound (5 page)

The fox quickly learned his name - the humans called him "Tod" - but he would almost never come when called. He knew quite well he was being called, but he always wondered why they were calling him. Perhaps they had some sinister motive. If the calling became insistent, he would sneak quietly through the house, taking advantage of every chair and sofa until he could see the person calling. If the person had a toy, food, or was even lying on the floor patting the rug, he would joyfully bound in; but if the person had no obvious reason for wanting him, Tod would watch for several minutes and then softly steal away.

At first he had been given the run of the house, but now he was locked up at night in a bare room. Tod hated to be confined and deeply resented this treatment. He learned that after the supper dishes were washed, he would be locked up, so as soon as the dishes were put in the sink, he would quietly steal away. First he hid in the downstairs hallway, which, being dark and seldom used, seemed a good place, but he found that when both the man and his wife went looking for him, they could block both ends of the hall and he was sure to be caught. There were two upstairs hallways, and he tried both of them, one after the other. The same thing happened. He then tried hiding in a room, only to find that when the humans saw him they could shut the door and bottle him up. He tried all the rooms in succession, with the same result. Finally he learned to keep moving. Then it was almost impossible to trap him. As this trick had proved successful, he followed the same pattern rigidly from then on, always going along the same course because the first time he had followed that particular route he had escaped. Tod made no attempt to understand why a certain device succeeded or failed. If it failed he abandoned it, and if it succeeded he meticulously duplicated the same pattern in every detail over and over again.

As he grew bigger, the man did a number of curious acts that puzzled and somewhat annoyed Tod. He would throw some object on the floor, and the dog would bring it to him. Then he would throw it out for Tod. Tod understood what the man wanted him to do, and would pick up the object; but as there was no reason he could see to bring it to the man, he would carry it off. The man would catch him, put the object in his mouth, and close his jaws over it. Tod hated this performance, and fought it so furiously that the man gave up. Tod was willing enough to play, but he saw no reason why he should do something he did not want to do; and as he had no desire to please the man as did the dog, he would never retrieve.

On another occasion the man laid out a series of white metal bowls, each with a small piece of meat in it. Tod went down the line collecting the meat. One bowl had some wires running to it, the wires being attached to a small box that had a strong acid odor. Tod paid no attention to this arrangement, but when he touched the bowl he received a shock that made him jump. Tod carefully avoided that bowl in the future. The man tried placing it in different positions in relation to the others, but this made no difference to Tod, who could instantly recognize it. Finally the man removed the wires, and still Tod refused to go near the cursed thing. Months later, the man offered him food in the bowl, but Tod remembered it and shied away. No matter how the man washed the bowl and mixed it up with the others, Tod could tell it. Although all the bowls seemed identical, each had almost microscopic differences, and Tod with his keen sight could easily distinguish one from the others. Tod would never forget that particular bowl as long as he lived, and wires or no wires he would never go near it again. When the same experiment was tried on the dog, the little terrier got several shocks before he learned to associate that bowl with trouble, and a few months later he had forgotten about his experiences and ate from it as willingly as from the others. Tod needed only one lesson, and he never forgot.

The man began to take Tod out for walks, at first keeping him on a long lead. Tod loved these walks, He was bored in the house, and there was so much to see and smell outside. After one walk, the man had only to approach the drawer where the lead was kept and Tod was bounding with delight, lying down to wiggle and whine with delighted anticipation, holding up his head so the lead could be snapped to his collar. Getting Tod back to the house was another proposition. As soon as he saw they were headed back, he would fight the lead, lie down, or brace himself with all four feet against the pull.

At last the man tried letting him run free. Now Tod was perfectly happy. He ran around checking new scents and enjoying the sights. He was fascinated by the farm animals, especially the sheep. They had a heavy odor that attracted Tod, and the first time he encountered the flock he ran eagerly toward them. The sheep scattered in all directions, with Tod bounding joyfully in pursuit. As they scattered more and more, Tod began to herd them, bringing the flock together. Delighted at his power over these stupid creatures, he drove them from one end of the pasture to the other, learning how to keep the Hock bunched up and how to change their course without having them separate. When the sheep grew too panicky, Tod would stand still until they had quieted down, often dropping his long nose between his forepaws, with his hindquarters elevated in the same attitude he used when playing with the man or dog. Sometimes he would crawl in among the sheep on his belly so slowly and quietly they would stand motionless watching him. He would worm his way through the Hock in this manner, proud of his ability to fool the animals. Then, springing up, he would split the flock and drive one half around the pasture and the rest go where they would. He was much too small to hurt the sheep, and had no evil designs on them. Yet he had a desire to herd and drive them that he could not explain.

Tod had a remarkable ability to differentiate between various sounds and to interpret even human tones of voice. Once the terrier jumped a rabbit that sprinted down a fence line toward a road where cars were moving. The dog sped after the rabbit; and Tod, although he had not seen the rabbit himself, ran after the terrier. As they neared the road, the man started shouting to them. Both animals heard him, but the dog, intent on the rabbit trail, refused to obey, and naturally Tod kept with his friend - he seldom came when called under any circumstances. When they were close to the road and the speeding traffic, the man' s voice took on a new tone. He yelled with fury. The dog continued to ignore him, but Tod stopped short, turned to look at the man in surprise, and then hurried back, fawning at the man's feet apologetically. He knew quite well from the tone that this was no ordinary command; the man was intensely serious.

When autumn came, Tod was delighted to find great new vistas opening. From the top of a hill he could see vast distances, unhampered by tall grass or leafy bushes. Walking was now a real pleasure, for Tod had trouble making his way through dense cover and always preferred open country. Everything had become open country, even the woods that he had hitherto avoided, for the underbrush was gone. He loved the dry leaves, and batted them around with his nimble forefeet, springing up to catch them in the air with snapping jaws or rolling over and over in them. It became harder and harder for the man to entice him back to the house, for being outside was too much fun. Food had no particular attraction for him; he was too well fed, and could quite easily go for forty-eight hours without eating. Also, he was growing bigger, stronger, and more self-confident. Sometimes the man could lure him back with a mechanical toy that always aroused Tod’s curiosity, but he spent several nights out, always turning up in the morning for his bowl of milk.

It began to grow colder. Tod did not mind the cold; in fact he rather enjoyed it, but in the early morning when the ground was coated with hoarfrost, it upset him not tn be able to smell. He ran around sniffing desperately, afraid that something had gone wrong either with him or with the world. He did not relax until the sun started a thaw and scenting conditions were better. Just to reassure himself, Tod would dart around the farm, snuffing at all the old, familiar spots. Then he had a real surprise. Trotting down to the pond for a drink, he found the surface covered with a thin, hard substance. Tod smelled it, patted at it with his paw, and then struck it repeated blows with his pile-hammer nose. The stuff cracked, and Tod got his drink.

One evening Tod refused to return to the house in spite of all the man's cajolements. The atmosphere was oppressive and pressed down on his eardrums. He did not like the smell of the air; it seemed thick, somewhat like the heavy, moisture-charged air before a rain, yet this was different. It was more dense and confining. Tod reacted strongly to anything new; it either fascinated or terrified him. This terrified him. He ran around whimpering until finally the man left him, Then Tod got lonely and went to the back door. He sniffed under it. He could smell the people and food inside, and hesitatingly lifted one paw to scratch; then thought better of it. He was too distraught to think clearly, and ended by running around the farm several times and finally curling up under the woodpile, Scenting was good, and this partly reassured him, as whatever the danger was, he could tell when it was coming by his nose. At last he went to sleep.

When he awakened, the world had turned white. Tod sat up astonished. He was a little frightened but mainly curious. He dabbed at the stuff with one paw and studied the curious way it crumbled. He poked at it with his long nose and was charmed when his nose plunged into the stuff. Now he was thoroughly excited. He bounded out into the snow, diving from one drift to another, knocking it about by quick sideways motions with his nose. When miniature snowballs formed and rolled down the drifts, Tod chased them, biting gaily and then trying to find out what had happened to the vanished spheres. He was still rollicking happily about when the man came out. Tod was so happy he allowed himself to be picked up without a struggle and carried inside for breakfast. As soon as he was through eating, he anxiously scratched at the door to be let out again. This time the man and dog went with him, and Tod had a magnificent time making a complete fool out of them both, for often he could run on the surface of the snow when his two companions floundered helplessly in the drifts. This was exactly Tod's idea of a joke, and he made the most of it.

As the winter continued, Tod grew increasingly restless. His testes began to swell and trouble him so that he sometimes twisted around to bite at them. He grew more and more irritable, snapping at the dog, and several times he bit the man severely when picked up. He stayed away more and more, returning to the farm mainly to pick up food at the garbage dump in the far pasture; but sometimes he still craved companionship, scratching and barking at the back door until he was let in. At such times he would run ardently from the man to the dog, doing everything to show how glad he was to be home. For a day or so he might stay at the farm, following the man everywhere he went, going contentedly to the once-hated room at night and being even tamer than the dog. Then the throbbing would start in his swollen testes again, and he would grow restless and irritable.

His coat, which had been lackluster and shabby, was thicker and so much more colorful that he seemed like a different animal. His back became a burnished red with golden tints. His chest and belly turned a creamy white, while his eartips and lower parts of his long legs were a rich black. His brush became enormous, until it was nearly half his own size, while a snowy tassle appeared on the tip. A slight but noticeable ruff appeared around his neck that stood out when he was excited. Because of the ruff, his ears seemed more prominent and his thin nose was accentuated. His face resembled an inverted triangle with the apex greatly extended. During the summer he might have been mistaken for a small yellow dog or even a large cat. Now he was unmistakably a fox.

Tod spent hours running aimlessly through the fields or along the edges of woods, looking for something, he knew not what. Occasionally he would catch a mouse and far less frequently a rabbit, half frozen and unable to put forth its best speed. He attacked his quarry with a fury bordering on hysteria, growling as he killed and then flinging it about in an orgy of ferocity. He seldom bothered to eat it, for in killing he was striving to find a relief for the mysterious urge that possessed him. The urge was partly satisfied by the wriggling and squealing of the prey and the taste of hot, salty blood, but within minutes the agonizing restlessness would return and Tod would race on and on, knowing that only by exhausting himself could he rest and sleep.

Occasionally the urge would temporarily disappear, and then Tod was rational again. He would return to the garbage dump to look for food, although he no longer scratched at the door. One winter evening he saw the man on his way to the barn, and Tod ran joyfully to greet him. For nearly an hour they played together as they had often played when he was a puppy - Tod rushing in to bite playfully at the man's outstretched hands, grab any objects thrown him, and dash around with it while the man chased him, and once while the man was kneeling, even jumping on his back and nipping his ear. But whenever the man tried to catch him, Tod ducked away. He did not want to be confined, and his wild life was making him increasingly distrustful of any human.

One night. while Tod was sleeping, thoroughly exhausted, under a blown-down pine, he was awakened by a distant scream. It was a shrill, eerie sound, charged with hatred and terror. Tod shuddered at the sound, and lay still. The cry came again and again, growing even more shrill and vindictive. Gradually Tod became interested. He was always interested, if frightened, of anything new, and he had never heard a noise like this. The, too, there was a quality of fear in the cry that lured him. Tod automatically reacted to the sight or sound of any living creature in distress. When the sheep had run, he had chased them furiously, desiring only to sink his teeth into the frightened animals, but when they had turned at bay Tod had promptly stopped. Once he had heard the scream of a rabbit and run eagerly to the spot, for the hopeless terror in the noise had set his blood pounding. When he found the rabbit in the grip of a great horned owl that clicked at him with its hooked beak and spread its great wings, Tod had hastily retreated. This cry was not. unlike the cry of the doomed rabbit, and might well mean some creature was in dire straits. If so, killing would be easy, and killing the helpless always appealed to Tod far more than killing the strong.