The Silent Fox
By Julia Torok
Scrape, toss, scrape, toss. The gravelly scraping of the snow shovel continued like a rhythm, a steady beat to the otherwise quiet winter morning. My arms started to ache from the repetitive movement of the shovel. Just the rest of the sidewalk, I thought. When the brown concrete revealed itself under piles of snow, I decided to take a rest. I set the shovel against the retaining garden wall and sat down. The vegetable plants were long gone now, blanketed in soft white. I looked upwards and little snowflakes drifted down from the sky, which looked like a giant white-and-gray cloud. If I gazed at it for too long my eyes would water from the brightness and I’d have to look away. Even though my puffy jacket and gloves kept me warm, I could feel a little chill from the winter air creeping into my toes and fingers. A warm mug of hot chocolate sounded delicious then. In my peripheral vision, I glanced at a flash of crimson and whirled around to see what was there. Behind my house, a fox was perched on a tree stump at the beginning of the woods. Its reddish fur contrasted with the coffee-brown of the trees and the paper-white snow. Its brown eyes caught mine and it just stood there, staring at me, almost as if it wanted me to talk first.
“…Hello?” I called hesitantly. I knew the animal couldn’t understand English, but I could at least see if the fox reacted.
There was a split second before the fox took off, leaping over the twigs and vines as it wound its way deeper into the woods. Well, I tried, I thought. Maybe this fox was just plain delusional. But something else told me it wanted more than a response. At this point, my fingers had started to go numb from the cold and I strolled back to the house. I hung the shovel up on a rack in the garage, blade-up so it would stay in place without falling. As I entered the house I was met by the warm rush of heated air. I hadn’t realized how cold I was, and when I got inside, I had goosebumps on my skin from the temperature change. I would take a hot shower, but I was craving something else first…
* * *
I sat at the kitchen table with warm hot cocoa in hand. Definitely a good choice. My favorite drink in winter wasn’t coffee, apple cider, or tea. Hot chocolate was always the best. The window in front of me allowed me to see almost all of my backyard, up to the woods where that strange fox disappeared. I was about to open a gift magazine when I spotted that same fox. The brown eyes, black-tipped ears, and bushy tail were identical to the fox I saw earlier. I expected it to make a noise, walk around, but it was just there, staring at me. Not once in minutes did it blink. I thought this fox didn’t want to run away this time, and my curiosity got the best of me. I pulled my winter boots on, the heavy jacket, and gloves. Even though the idea seemed childish, I was going to follow this fox wherever it took me. I swung the garage door open and an ice-cold gust of wind greeted me. Reluctantly, I looked back to the house. Did I really want to leave my warm, heated, home just to chase some animal around? It’ll be an adventure, sort of, I thought.
I walked towards where the fox was at the end of the once-green grass, very slowly at first. If I came running at it, it would just scamper away. 20 feet away… 10 feet… I was almost at arm’s length with the fox now, but still, it stood unflinching, silent. I took a step closer and the fox jumped off its perch once more and scurried away. But this time, the fox stopped before it went into the pines of the woods, where I couldn’t see behind the trees anymore. It casted a swift glance back at me, then looked ahead towards the trees. Did the fox actually want me to follow it? Cautiously, I stepped over fallen branches and a narrow stream to catch up to the fox. Once it saw I was very close, it vanished through the evergreens. I hesitated. What if this fox is leading me into some kind of trap? I tried not to think about it and plunged on through the wall of green. On the other side, the dead wood became beautiful. Everywhere I looked I saw frost-crusted red berries on the trees, most likely poisonous but astounding because of their bright color. Songbirds sang a chorus in the copse of branches above. I could see red cardinals, the distinctive yellow-and-black chickadees, finches, and little wrens. Even though the morning was quiet, the woods were thriving with life. The sun was just breaking over the horizon in the east, and the untouched blanket of snow shimmered in the first light of day.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered.
I had never been to this part of the woods before. I thought there would just be some more houses behind mine, but I never knew that this beauty was hidden from me for so long. While I was taking in the sights, the fox circled back to where I stood, as if reminding me that we needed to continue our journey. We walked on through the brilliant landscape, and I left fresh footprints with a solid crunch, crunch in the snow. I would follow them back if I needed to. Next to mine were the tiny pawprints of the fox, still not having made a peep the whole way.
Soon enough I heard a faint yipping in the distance. I wondered if it was just creaking branches from the wind, but I could now recognize it as a high-pitched animal whine. The fox stopped under a fallen log that had landed in the crevice of another tree. The log was cleanly cut off and singed around the edges, probably from a lightning storm earlier that year. Under the log, there was about a foot of space for a very tiny fox to fit in the gap. At first, I couldn’t see the problem, but once the little fox adjusted its footing, I saw a shiny snare wire trap tightened on its leg. I looked over at the original fox, unsure of what to do. The silent fox had an almost desperate, pleading look in its eyes. She’s the baby fox’s mother. That’s why she led me all this way. She’s scared. I knew I had to help this family, no doubt about it. I crouched down so I was eye to eye with the baby and examined its injured leg.
“Shh…it’s ok,” I said softly to comfort the poor thing.
I slowly lifted the leg to see the damage, and the little fox winced. The mother let out a low growl as a warning to keep my hands off her cub. The wire had dug deep into its skin and dried blood crested around the wound. It would get infected if it was not taken care of now. I knew that a snare was commonly used by hunters to catch rabbits and other small ground animals. Luckily, the trap wasn’t rusting yet, so the baby could not get tetanus or other poisoning. I needed to get back to the house quickly to get pliers. You couldn’t just untie a snare; it only got tighter the more you pulled on it. I gave a nod to the mother to let her know I wasn’t just running off and ditching her. I backtracked our path at a fast paced walk, a trot, then a full-on run. The scenery mixed into a blur as I kept running, past the birds, berries, and snow banks. This cub was going to lose its leg forever if I wasn’t fast enough.
* * *
I reached the towering green wall of the pines and bursted through to the other side. I hurried up to the garage and made it to the workbench area. Many of my father’s power tools lined the walls: hammers, screwdrivers, drills, vises. I found the pliers in an old empty paint can and snapped the blades together a few times to be sure they were adequate to use after months of storage. After I verified their good condition, I dashed out of the house, not even bothering to shut the garage door. I crashed into the woods and branches scraped at my hair and face, attempting to hold me back from getting to the little fox. The pines also felt like holding me back, delaying me just a moment longer from saving this cub. Inside, I suddenly felt a deep empathy for the mother fox and her baby. The mother had to have been very courageous to ask a human, usually an enemy, for help to save her child. Sometimes that feeling of helplessness was there in my own heart too. I will save this family. I have to. It felt like my heart was going to beat out of my chest at any moment. My lungs burned from the cold winter air and my legs were growing tired from running. After what felt like hours, I saw the familiar fallen log with two stark crimson blotches against the dark wood. I jogged over to the small clearing and the mother fox stepped aside, entrusting me with her cub’s life. I knelt low and carefully positioned the wire so I could cut away from the baby’s leg. The handle of the pliers felt leaden, heavy, and a sprinkle of doubt trickled into my mind. What if I can’t cut it? What else would I do? I pushed the thought away, fitted the wire between the blades and clamped them down on the wire. Hard. For a second, I thought the wire wouldn’t give, but then I heard the reassuring snap of the snare trap being cut in two pieces. I released a small sigh of relief and looked down at the little fox. It realized its leg had been free and had gained its balance again. Fortunately, I grabbed an old mini first aid kit from the garage in my rush to get the pliers. I opened the tin and inside I pulled out a long strip of gauze bandage and some rubbing alcohol to clean the wound. With a cotton ball, I dabbed the blood off and administered the sanitizer. I quickly wrapped the bandage around the injured leg and secured it with a small knot. When the wound was healed, its mother could easily take off the bandage with her sharp teeth. The fox was still quiet as a mouse, but once the baby wobbled over to sit next to her, she looked at me in the eyes and I could see thankfulness and understanding there.
After a moment, the silent fox walked deeper into the woods with her little cub, more slowly this time because the little thing needed to hobble to keep up. Up ahead was a thicket where you couldn’t see the other side, like that same wall of pines. The silent fox looked back at me for a second, and then they were off. I hoped the best for the little family after our encounter. Maybe we’d meet again and I’d see them at the edge of the woods, the little fox grown big as its mother. My heart felt radiant and I realized I wasn’t cold anymore. Every day from then on I would think of this fox, of the life I saved. I discovered then that you should give anyone a chance for help; you never know what’s going on just from looking at the outside.
