Essays

Moseying: Exploring the Natural World

A breakfast interrupted by a cat, a fox, and stray dogs
December 28, 2003

"I just saw the fox!" Deborah and I were reading the Midland Reporter Telegram and drinking coffee early on a Saturday morning. She quickly turned around but was too late. The little gray fox had trotted behind the ornamental barbwire fence at the edge of the meadow that is our backyard and disappeared behind the huge "cattledrive" prickly pear. Back in the 1930's drought cattle had been driven up the dirt roads from the Stockton Plateau and the Pecos River Valley to be put on the railroad for greener pastures. As they were driven, prickly pear had been hauled in trucks after their needles singed with flamethrowers so the cows could have something in their bellies at each bedding ground. Every 15 miles or so, a person can find an area now choked with prickly pear, proof of those cattle drives.

At daybreak the day after Thanksgiving, I had seen the fox sprint across the driveway as I drove down to the county road to get our morning paper. He had scampered out of the holy sage covering the septic tank's drainfield, jumped over the railroad tie fence along the trail leading to "The Crone's Cottage," and darted in front of the truck not more than fifteen feet away. When we retire, the Crone's Cottage will be the Gone Native Arboretum's gift shop, but that is still years in the future. As the fox passed in front of my little truck, he had "put it in a lower gear" and kicked up dust with his churning paws. He did not break stride until he had reached the mesquite thicket beyond the reclaimed prairie that surrounds the plantings of the arboretum, but then had skidded to a stop to peer at me from behind yet another of the prickly pears.

We had not seen the fox for months. Normally, after the young of the year are weaned in July, a fox takes up residence on the shade structure of the "Llanero Cantina," our shade garden with a barbecue grill and seating for outside meals. For years we have enjoyed the companionship of foxes -- when we come to the grill in the evening the fox in residence merely peers down at us, yawns, and covers his nose with his tail again and goes back to sleep. During one apple-bobbing, pinata-bashing, face-painting fall harvest celebration, our guests were amused when the fox came down, trotted off a ways to take care of a natural urge, and then returned to its rooftop slumbers. Gray foxes are the only canine in the world that can climb vertically.

I stood up to pour a little more coffee and was drawn back to the dining table when Deborah told me that Mindy, our 15 pound male cat, had just trotted into the yard carrying a big packrat. Mindy carried it to the firepit made of colorful rocks of orange and turquoise hues and carefully set his prey on one of the larger flagstones. Cats like to play with their catch, and when the rat started to scurry away he leapt fox-like with front paws together and back arched to pin it yet again. He stepped back, and when it did not move, swatted it with a paw.

"There's the fox! It is so pretty -- I love the red highlights on its sides." Deborah enthused. The fox had appeared along the trail behind the prickly pear again. It stood watching the cat. Mindy noticed the fox with a brief glance, and then swatted the rat again. It started to run and he grabbed it again. The fox sat down, intently watching Mindy. Mindy sprawled out, holding the rat down, and sniffed along its body.

"Look at that, the fox is getting comfortable!" Deborah and I looked at each other, both of us saying. "WOW!" at the same time. The fox lay down in its little curled posture so familiar from the shade structure rooftop. Mindy found the perfect spot to administer the coup-de-grace and bit down.

"Why is the fox behaving in such a way? Does he think he will get the leavings, or does he figure Mindy will get bored with it and then he can have a turn? What is going on?" I love the questions posed by the actions of critters, and as is my wont, I give voice to such questions with the slightest cause. "How did he know Mindy had the rat? Had he heard the rat squealing as Mindy had carried this way and had gone down the trail to watch him bring it in?"

"Is the fox going to try to take it away from Mindy?" Deborah's first concern was for the cat's safety. She started to say something about Mindy's hunting habits -- I think it was going to be about the indelicate nature of the effects of a predator's tooth and claw, but was interrupted by sudden movements of the fox. It stood and peered off to the north, and its body language imparted intent wariness. It took one step and peered around the pomegranate bush. Its fur began bristling and its leg muscles tightened.

"What is it nervous about -- what is out there --" I asked, and got an immediate answer. Deborah had spotted a stray dog coming down the trail from the arroyo storage shed. The fox took one step to the east, away from the dog, a mid-sized yellow hound, but then doubled back and appeared to be heading for a meeting with the dog. It had observed the intent of the dog, which had been to go east on a trail behind the pomegranate. The fox sprinted, as fast as it did the morning after Thanksgiving. The dog must have heard its movements, and whipped around to give chase to the fox.

As both canines disappeared down the driveway, Mindy dropped his rat and gave chase to both. He darted out of sight through the double row of Afghan pines and cenizos. Mindy is either the bravest cat in the world, or the craziest -- we have seen him rush other stray dogs. "Here comes another dog!" Deborah's voice betrayed the sudden realization that the cat might not know of the second dog.

"Here's where I take a hand!" I opened the breezeway door and crossed the flagstone patio in a hurry, leaping over the New Mexico mallows planted along its edge, setting the chiminea to rocking as I accidentally clipped it in my haste. The second stray dog froze -- a big Chow mix -- and for a second I thought it would not give way to my "chousing," but it did, quickly disappearing out to the "desert plants berm," darting between the greasewood and lecheguilla in its haste.

I stood and looked down the driveway, but saw no sign of the fox or the first dog. I glanced at the roof of the shade structure, but did not spot the fox, not even when I checked the bigtooth maple, the cottonwood, the goldenball leadtree, and the Texas hawthorne. I felt certain the fox had taken to the trees, and figured the cat had too. The first dog suddenly appeared back on the arroyo-shed trail, steadily trotting in the direction of the other dog. I kept looking for the cat and the fox, but had no luck in spotting either. After scratching my head for a moment, I returned to the house, to my coffee and the paper. Deborah and I had just gotten comfortable when Mindy returned to his rat. We all nibbled away at our breakfasts, enjoying the sunshiny morning.

Deborah glanced up after a few minutes. "Mindy is covering the rat." The cat stretched as long as his body would allow, after raking old grass stems over the rat's remains, and then wandered out to the trail along the barbed wire fence, looking off to the north. After a few minutes of observation, he came to the house to be let in, to get a big drink of water, and to have a dessert of dried cat food. "Did you leave the rest of the rat for the fox?" we asked. In answer we were blessed by loud purring, something Mindy almost never does.