The call came on a Sunday morning – a kindly couple had seen a baby fox lying in front of its den alone and weak. They placed him in front of the opening hoping his mother would take him in, but she acted as if he were non-existent. Unable to watch him die, they brought him in and tried to nurse him but something was wrong … could we take care of it? Our facilities were full, we had no room but …

We drove down to pick up the tiny red thing and brought it home. He seemed to be about a month old. His mother had to have taken care of him to have reached that age. Why did she abandon him? He seemed a bit dazed, uninterested in food or water. After a few hours we got him to test out a huge juicy blackberry we had slightly squeezed so he could taste the juice. Perhaps the fact that there were such delicious things in life made him want to live, but whatever the reason there was little problem with his appetite after that.

At first we couldn’t understand why he was abandoned. Renard thrived, happily destroying anything in the house he could get his teeth into which was everything, considering his agility. He would start on the floor level racing in a blur of fur through what must have been a fox heaven obstacle course – he hid behind the stove, the table, under the table cloth, behind chairs, dashing from behind, rushing past our feet at full speed with a quick little playful nip at our ankles, then looking back to see the reaction and asking us to chase him, taking wicked delight at my ever-surprised “ouch” that was part of the game. He made it through spaces a mouse couldn’t find. As he got warmed up he would start on the second tier, leaping from table top to back of chair to desktop sending papers flying and cascading – then finally in an ecstasy of speed he would progress to the third level, defying gravity, his momentum literally taking him up walls to the tops of book shelves, happily showering the floor with long forgotten knicknacks and other things above my head and thus out of memory. Finally exhausted (he and we), we would pick him up, cuddle him, and put him back in his box. He played sweetly with Boychuk, our German Shepard, whom he adored. Tiny red and large shiny black bodies snuggling together emanating contentment … sharp little fox face with mouth open in delight as he made a playground of Boychuck’s body to be jumped over, on, leapt around, fiercely attacked and generally harassed. We were second choice playmates but were accepted too … I would roll him gently on his back and he would fiercely mock-attack my hand and push up with all fours. Everything was done with full energy.

One day we looked over to see him standing stock-still and looking odd … he seemed disoriented and frightened and didn’t seem to know where he was. The episode passed but a few days later he fell to the floor in convulsions. We rushed him to the vet, who diagnosed epilepsy. Somehow his mother must have known. The seizures became more frequent and violent. We would pick him up and hold him as he went through it, reassuring him as he would come out of it disoriented and scared. Finally we decided to put him on Dilantin, the same medication used on humans with epilepsy. After trial and error and observation we finally found the right dosage where the seizures disappeared but he was not drugged and drowsy.

The summer months passed as in a beautiful dream. We went for long walks, humans, dog and fox, he a whirling dervish of activity leaping over logs and sage, dashing back to us for security and off again in a flash of vitality. Bonded to humans, he made hundreds of human friends as he went to schools and workshops, charming everyone and striking a blow for fox awareness. In one class of 50 he went around to every single person, exploring their feet, greeting, pulling shoelaces, turning over and entering pocket books, putting forepaws on legs and looking up inquisitively. He seemed to take extra pleasure in life, perhaps because he nearly lost it.

One day I looked out and to my consternation saw him having a seizure — a big one. As I rushed out he suddenly froze in position, rigid, the life in him gone in a flash. He was four months old.

Four months of joyous life for Renard, stolen from death. Four months of intensive educating of humans. An abbreviation of a life which only underscored the preciousness of our time on earth. He lived it to the fullest. I have never experienced an animal enjoying every moment, as intensely, as did Renard.

After his passing one of his human admirers saw a dead fox on the road. Because of knowing Renard she stopped and carried her into the woods where her body wouldn’t be mindlessly ground into the tarmac. She arranged it, covered it, and said a prayer for her journey, giving her a respectful death, an acknowledgment of her existence, and passing.

Every fox is a potential Renard. Each individual life, human or animal, is wondrous. Renard, a vibrant red flash in the pan and gone. Representative of the dancing, graceful play of light that is Fox.

3 Comments

• Print
• Share

• Sanctuary Map Explore
• Support the Animals Help to provide food and medical care. Support
• Explore your work through new eyes.Plan a Retreat
• Support Earthfire Help spread the vision of a new way to relate with natureSupport