Separated Fox
So, the fox got separated from his mate.
He’d been so used to her being there,
That he’d just assumed that she’d always be there,
Somewhere round about,
Rooting in the woods,
Having her own daily adventures,
But never too far away,
And always easy to find.
It took a while,
For him to realize that she wasn’t about to emerge from the undergrowth,
Like she’d done so many times before.
He waited and waited,
Until well past dark.
But still no sign.
When it was fully dark,
And the stars had started to twinkle in the ebony sky,
He made a decision;
He would look for her in the dark wood.
Now, he wasn’t a stupid fox,
Not by any means,
And he knew what a treacherous place the wood at night could be.
It’s just that he couldn’t face life without her,
And would risk anything,
To find her again.
But he couldn’t find her,
And all he managed to do was get himself lost as well.
That’s when things got really tough.
Alone and afraid,
The fox got more and more tangled up in the dark wood.
His spirit sank,
And loneliness gripped his heart.
His cunning and guile left him,
His once beautiful brown and white coat now tatty and mud stained.
He lay down and cried.
And that’s when things got even tougher.
His sobbing attracted a wolf.
A great dark beast that you find in fairytales,
Ravenous,
Long sharp teeth,
And breath that paralyzed.
Poor little fox,
He was too tired to run,
And part of him hoped that the wolf would end his misery.
The wolf glowered over him,
Its green eyes burning in the darkness,
Its drooling maw inches from his trembling frame.
He felt its teeth sink into the back of his neck,
And it started to shake him like a doll.
It tossed him into the air,
Caught him again,
And shook him some more.
The wolf, of course, was enjoying itself,
The way that killer whales enjoy playing with seals,
And it rampaged through the wood tearing at the poor little fox.
But fate hadn’t done with the fox yet,
And in its own twisted way,
Intervened.
The flesh at the fox’s neck had become torn and weak.
As the great dark wolf shook the fox,
For what would have been the final time before the kill,
The skin and flesh gave way,
And the fox flew through the air out of the wolfs clutches.
He span through the night sky,
Blood pouring from the wound,
His body limp and broken.
Nearly dead.
But fate still wasn’t done with the poor little fox,
For in its rampage,
The wolf had taken the fox to the edge of the wood.
The fox landed in the road,
And was alive enough,
To see the headlights of the on rushing car,
Just before it hit him.
Blackness
Blackness, and then dreams.
He’d been a lucky fox after all.
The driver of the car was a vet.
Through long and difficult weeks
She nursed him back to life.
It was touch and go,
And three times he nearly died.
He had some permanent injuries,
She’d had to sew his skull back together,
And he’d broken many bones,
Some of which could not be set straight again.
But this was as nothing compared to the pain in his heart.
For he could not live without his mate.
When his strength returned,
As much as it ever would,
The fox brought the vet a chicken,
By way of thanks,
And limped off back into the wood to look for his mate.
