The Red Fox




An overcast, gray afternoon created a painful glare that pierced into the dark recesses of a young boys blue eyes. He sat on a hard, wooden, rail-backed chair while he gazed through an old sashed window.
Toward the rear of the small yard behind the farmhouse stood, in tandem, two rusted, corrugated tin sheds.

His family had just finished attending Sunday services, where they made their offerings, and repented their sins.

His father, wearing a limp, sleeveless undershirt, brooded, as he sat at a small oak dining table in this cramped, narrow room.
Beaded with sweat, his unshaven face and hairy shoulders glistened beneath a hot incandescent ceiling lamp.
He felt uneasy, hot, and sweaty, and wanted to check the traps he set a few days ago. Announcing his intentions to his son, both prepared themselves for the short drive to the site where the traps lay.

Reaching their destination, they parked on the shoulder of a narrow dirt road.
The front and rear car doors facing the road swung open. Seated sideways, their legs extended into the road. Tugging and pulling, they worked their feet into their thick rubber wading boots.

He led his son deep into the underbrush, the aqueous soil of which discouraged the formation of impressions. A sudden, acrid odor, similar to that of a skunk, permeated the surrounding air, as they trode upon wild cabbage.
A dense curtain of brush and vines within the marsh delayed their progress, as they pushed aside these obstacles.

Gradually, they came upon the bank of a small creek in this remote area, it's cool water gently gurgling as it flowed through rocks and crevices.

A few yards away lay a Red fox, snarling, displaying its fangs as its final defense, its hind leg crushed in a vise of cold, blue steel.
The animal had not been trapped for long, since his father felt obligated to frequently check the traps in order to minimize the suffering they inflicted.
Locating a strong branch nearby, his father returned, and forcefully, repeatedly, swung the branch against the skull of the suffering animal to subdue it.

Disengaging the leg from the trap, he proceeded to drag the limp animal to the edge of the creek, forcing its head downward, into the bottom of it.
Its body quivered for a few moments, tensed, as though the ice-cold water woke it from a dream.
Small bubbles rose through the sparkling water, as the animals tension subsided.

Soon, his father retrieved the dead fox from the stream, stuffing the body inside a coarse burlap bag, which he flung over his shoulder.

A few weeks later, he insisted I see the pelt of a possum he lured.
Swinging open the door of one of the rusted, corrugated tin sheds, he switched on a crude, bare-bulb light fixture that hung from a rafter.

Five Red fox pelts lined the walls, with an assortment of other animal hides.









© Copyright 2006 author131
Walter Durk

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