It is possible that the fox was not content with such a diet as nature has provided for him, but chose to invade the domain of man, and to filch from an ill-protected roost of chickens, a matronly hen, whose eggs had been helping to fill the basket of some thrifty farmer’s wife. Pleasure would be too mild a word to employ in describing the fox’s sensations resulting from a successful venture of this kind. Wild rapture would be more appropriate, with a dash of sneering derision and scornful mockery of humankind, whose efforts at poultry raising the wild animal finds so interesting. In any event, it is probable that he welcomes the pale light of dawn as a signal for him to relax.To read more, a subscription is required. Log in or click here to subscribe.
The Fox’s Morning
- By W.H. DeCourcy Wright