Close encounter

“…uh…uh…uh…”

I cocked an ear to the soft sound that was not quite a snort, but more like a nasally glottal stop. It’s a sound that I’d heard in the distance before, but this sounded a bit closer. I suspected it was one of the little fox chiding me for missing their dinner. Though slightly remorseful for my forgetfulness, I continued to clean the growing algae out the 2 birdbaths and water trough. I had decided not to look around to find the source of the sound for fear of spooking whoever was lurking in the understory.

“…uh…uh…uh…”

This not-bark was a little closer still, as I heard it over the water filling the trough. Intrigued as I was, I continued with my chore and while the trough was filling I spread the deer feed on the rock shelf. I pulled the hose from the trough and while turning to pull it back to the hanger and turn it off I spied Simon inching closer to me. He was perhaps 6 feet away and when he saw that he had my attention…finally…he sat down in his most patient of fox poses.

“Hey boy - hungry?” I said softly. He moved a bit closer and sat down again.

I put the hose away and went into the house for fox food, trying to keep my movements as unexaggerated as possible. It’s the first time he’s been this close while I was actually doing something, although he’d been that close while I was sitting very still on the deck. I looked in the basket by the door for the food, but it was empty. Ah! I had remembered to take some out of the freezer earlier so as I passed by the bay window in search of bread I saw Simon following my every move.

Grabbing the bag of hoagie rolls – the special at the time at the day old bread store – I thought about all the bread we’ve bought in the last year. The proprietor asked one day about how many kids we were feeding. I said, “Kits, not kids.” She looked perplexed, so I clarified, “Fox.” Still looking puzzled she handed me my change. I chose not to clarify our eccentricity any further.

Normally I break up a couple of rolls and toss them in the fox’s general direction. Given how calm Simon was and the remarkable reduction in his flight distance I decided to sit on the edge of the deck and tossed a piece just a few feet out. Simon wasted no time in retrieving the piece and then retreating a bit ate the morsel. In his wake was a unique animal perfume, Simon’s sillage – wild and a little musky - earthy, leaving no doubt as to his woodland origin. He returned to the place where the piece of roll had been tossed and sat again. I was awestruck at being this close to this creature whose closeness had only been defined in a telephoto lens. His dark brown eyes were stunning and his gaze was without guile.

“You’re a good boy,” I said. Dropping the piece a little beyond arm’s length I asked, “How about a little closer, mmm?” Relaxed as a domestic dog, he stood and took a step forward and retrieved the piece; retreating as he did previously to eat. He returned to the same spot as before and we repeated the process. I decided to hold the 4^th piece out to him and not drop it on the ground. He just sat there, patiently watching me. I was clear he wasn’t going to take it until I dropped it and as soon as I did Simon calmly and gently retrieved it and stepped away. I put the remaining pieces on the ground, not wanting to push or jinx the moment and he gathered them up, instinctively knowing that this was the last, and trotted off into the woods, prancing with high steps, high tail and a full mouth.

What a gorgeous creature and how very fortunate I was to be that close – close enough to see the movement in his eyes as he watched me, the slight flaring of his nostrils as he breathed and the barest twitch of his whiskers. It was a serendipitous moment. Time will tell if it can be repeated or if there will ever be a level of trust that will allow him to take the food from my hand. I suspect that one of the facilitators of this particular time was that none of the other fox were about, so there was no competition for the food. They are usually very wary of their sly brethren. Time will tell. What an interesting trust!

Eyes on you

A little spring surprise...

...waiting on the front porch...

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MOTHZILLA!

(its wingspan was the length of my hand)

HAPPY SPRING Y'ALL!

It's here!

I was moving the plants outside this morning, feeling like we will not see anymore sub-freezing temperatures - it was 98F here Friday and 87F on Saturday! The Hibiscus, Mandevilla and the Chestnut (or lizard) vine have been stressing for the last week in the workroom over the garage. No amount of water or light was going to make these guys happy, they wanted to be outdoors. Come to think about it, we want to be out as well.

The deciduous trees have begun to leaf out and the Live Oaks are finally shedding their last year’s leaves and soon the new plumage will appear. A new surprise for this year, our Mesquite tree is blooming! The Mesquite had finished blooming last year before we moved into the house. These are very tiny little blooms, about the same size as a pinky fingernail.

The hummingbird feeders were put out over a week ago and today while we were moving plants we got a visit from this handsome fellow! I wonder if he’s the same one from last season. I believe a party should be thrown! I think we can officially say that our “spring has sprung”!

Vulpine Diaries 3-13-08

Nearly a year has passed since Taylor gave his first cursory sniff to the agaves by the front steps and christened the birdbath stand. Nearly a year since the real estate agent and I turned into this property that her Magellan kept insisting didn’t exist. Nearly a year since we stumbled over enormous cactus to get back to the greenhouse that the owner freely admitted was the horticultural equivalent to Auschwitz. Nearly a year since I asked where the horse barn and pasture gate were only to be blinked at by the owner for a minute and answered with, “I haven’t been down there in years. I doubt we could push through the overgrowth.” Nearly a year when asked where the iron pin markers were located in the back of the property the owner blinked again and then sighed with relief when her husband came home and answered with the casualness of long time property stewards, “Ya just walk past the shop, over the brush pile and look down the survey debris and the stake is down yonder…somewhere…there’s a big cedar stick set in some rocks to mark it…think I put it there 13-14 years back…ya can’t miss it…the other is in the big clearing south of there…same mark…can’t miss it…haven’t seen ‘em in a…long time…but they’re there I’m sure.” Nearly a year has passed since I peered down that phantom property line and saw nothing but debris as high as my head and cedar saplings as thick as a bamboo stand. Nearly a year since I first saw Eartha and Sebastian sitting primly with foxly patience waiting for their afternoon bread treats. Nearly a year has passed since I called “B” and said I think we’ve found our place. Nearly a year since the agent and I drove out of the drive and I already had a much different vision of what could be here than what was already in existence.

I am amazed at what a difference a year can make. There have been significant changes in the landscape, pushing back the understory and gaining foot by gnarly foot. The property looks much larger now that half the 2 acre pasture has been cleared of cactus and the wiry grass that hid all but the largest prickly pear. The farthest reaches of the property are certainly more accessible and user friendly. The greenhouse is now just part of our view through the twisted trunks of the live oaks and the little pole barn in the pasture can now be used to store the larger pieces of maintenance equipment. The fences surrounding the pasture have been checked for breaches and 3 sides have been cleared. Slowly but surely the cedar and juniper saplings are being cleared and the deadwood is disappearing from the understory. Our lives have expanded farther into the property and soon will encompass the perimeter – perhaps by summer’s end. There are now tulips budding that we planted last season and stock being taken of which of the newly planted shrubbery survived the few bouts of frigid temperatures we had this past winter. We look anxiously for new buds on the bougainvillea and the Chinese pistache trees. I’ve already rebuilt the lawnmower and the string trimmer, both suffering fatal injuries from last year’s abuse. The pile of cactus is approaching the size of a small elephant and there are beginning incursions into the front half of the pasture. There is a satisfaction in knowing that, so far, all of the clearing has been done by hand and not large equipment. That will probably change.

Our wild kingdom continues to grow with the three cats ruling the roost. Izzy still wears the Ring of Power and so it will probably remain. Our vulpine population remains at five and the deer population ebbs and flows. There is now a raccoon who eats the deer feed side by side with the deer and the opossum. Our resident roadrunner has reappeared after a winter vacation. The hummingbird feeders are back up and we anxiously await their arrival. We are looking forward to who will show up next in the kingdom. Taylor is missed every day, yet I know he would approve of the changes here and hopefully there will be yet another Buffledog soon. His presence is felt in every aspect of our life here.

This next year will change a bit as our time will shift more toward our work lives than life here at Fox Trot, but it is our sincere hope that life here will remain the focus. The removal of the understory and the cactus has given us a new challenge – a rockin’ challenge … rocks and rocks and more rocks. I suspect this will be the year of the tractor.

It's just time :)

...to post some never before published photos of the unequivocal reason this blog even exists! Besides, Sandi demanded asked sweetly that my industrious arachnid not be displayed so prominently at the door - I’m sure there are others who will gladly celebrate his removal from the stoop! So … here are three newly scanned Buffledog photos!

HAPPY WEEKEND!

Critter bits

Well…if it’s not dreams it is cats - a sleepy, startled face full of all 11 pounds of Izzy fur! She says the wind blew her off the window ledge. I think she rolled off in her sleep. It is time to clip her claws again I think.

I lay there, recovering a bit as Izzy slunk off to the other room in search of her feline dignity, and I remembered a comment I made on Am’n2Deep regarding her snake post. I was relating the menagerie I had as the self-appointed zookeeper of the family. This morning I was thinking of that collection of misfits, listening to an early spring storm that had blown in overnight and I remembered that it was 4 years ago today that I was sitting in church at mom’s memorial service.

Mom was patience personified when it came to the strays and captures that I would sneak in, only to be discovered AFTER they were properly ensconced in a proper cage – on this point I was usually very careful. Her tolerance was amazing thinking back on it, not once ordering the removal of any of the creatures. I’ve wondered to this day if dad fully knew the extent of the mini-zoo that was growing in my bedroom, just paces away from their bedroom. The only thing not allowed in the room was any one of the cats, as that would have been a disaster of epic proportion. Mom’s tolerance, however, did have one notable exception.

During the menagerie’s zenith it was comprised of a 6½’ black rat snake (my prize possession), a pair of white rats (no, they weren’t snake food), a couple of box turtles, a rotation of fish, an injured bat (who eventually went to wildlife rehab and was later released), a flying squirrel and Suzy the rabbit (who normally stayed in a hutch in the yard, but was often snuck in for a sleepover). My interest in the well-being of the animals was not lost on mom and I’m convinced that was a large portion of her tolerance. The snake, turtles, bat and flying squirrel were eventually released. The fish, rabbit and rats were more-or-less permanent residents. It was Rocky, the flying squirrel that mom had the most difficulty with, and it caused no small amount of maternal consternation.

Rocky loved treats and, like a very small dog, would hover about or actively root for any food bits lying about – both intentionally left for his entertainment or unintentionally left due to neglectful housekeeping on my part. He would often ride on our shoulders or sit on our heads, but his favorite spot was on the valence above the window or perched on the door frame. It was from these perches that his sport was born and, thus, mom’s apparent disapproval of airborne rodentia. Since we often hid his little treats in our hair and under our collars he would lurk upon his perch, waiting to ambush any hapless soul who happened through the doorway. He would then launch himself upon the potential bearer of treats, creating great rushes of adrenalin. For us, this was enormous fun … for mom … well … not so much! I believe it was during this period that I learned to change my own sheets. I also learned tolerance and forbearance from her – handy tools for raising curious children!

I learned while reading some excerpts from her journals after she died that her patience for critters was as natural as it gets. It seems she had a penchant for keeping Black Widow spiders when they lived in Grand Coulee, Washington, where my grandfather was a pour engineer on the dam. She apparently took great delight in sending my great grandmother, who lived with them at the time, into an apoplectic fit upon discovering the little beasties in a jar in mom’s room. I think that, perhaps, there is some genetic code at work here!