Dónal Donohoe

It was nice to be outdoors in the afternoon sunshine, the Indian summer having lasted until November and going some way towards making up for the summer we never had. I was absorbed in what I was doing when I turned around to get something and there he was, the fox. With his redish brown fur, long bushy tail and cat-like eyes, he was no more than three or four feet away from me. He just stood there looking at me expectantly in the hope I suppose that I would feed him. My elderly neighbour had told me that while her grandchildren had been staying with her for a few days sometime earlier they had fed the fox by hand a few times. Somehow feeding a wild animal with human food did not seem right, it could make him a little too trusting of people which might not always be in his best interest.

                                                                                            © Irene Lundgaard

He followed me around for about a half an hour and although it was hard I resisted giving him any food hoping instead that he would turn his attention to catching one of the many wild rabbits that inhabit these hills. Eventually the fox did go his own way, but over the following days and weeks he has come around many times. Sometimes he would eat some of the apples that were left out for the birds and other times he would drink from the bird bath, but maybe he was just dropping by to say hello in his own foxy way. As far as I am concerned he is always welcome.