Adele Brand

The Hidden World of the Fox


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       COPYRIGHT

      William Collins

       An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.WilliamCollinsBooks.com

      This eBook first published in Great Britain by William Collins in 2019

      Copyright © Adele Brand 2019

      Cover design and text artwork by Jo Walker

      Adele Brand asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

      A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins

      Source ISBN: 9780008327286

      Ebook Edition © October 2019 ISBN: 9780008327293

      Version: 2019-09-27

       For my parents

      CONTENTS

       Cover

       Title Page

      Copyright

       Dedication

       5 Fox Family Matters

       6 The Fox and its Neighbours

       7 What Does the Fox Say?

       8 Counting Foxes

       9 In Sickness and in Health

       10 Predators Among Us

       11 When the Fur Flies

       12 Tornado in a Cage

       Epilogue: Fame and Foxes

       The Fox Watcher’s Toolkit

       Acknowledgements

       Bibliography

       About the Author

       About the Publisher

       Who is the Fox?

      VISUALISE A FOX: flame-orange on a white canvas, black paws and thick brush, pointed muzzle and diamond-sharp eyes. Now paint its native wildwood behind it – this fox is trotting through the undergrowth, exploiting trails within the brambles trampled by badgers. It leaves neat narrow tracks on mud softened by afternoon rain, and snags its fur on thorns in passing.

      Woodland, farmland, hedgerows and weary old trees. Owls, hedgehogs, rutting deer. Dead man’s fingers – that is, grisly-looking black fungi – poking through sweet chestnut leaves in the autumn; woodpeckers playing rat-a-tat-tat on dying branches in the spring.

      This is the classic British landscape of the classic Brit­ish fox: the precious fragments of countryside saved from industrialised agriculture and overdevelopment. Ancient, intriguing, revitalising and poetic, our rural semi-wild has enchanted animal-focused authors from Beatrix Potter to Colin Dann of The Animals of Farthing Wood fame. The fox of tradition lives squarely within it, running under a cloud of mythology stirred by friend and foe alike.

      But it is not the only fox of twenty-first-century Britain.

      IMAGINE ANOTHER DUSK, this one after a day when chainsaws groaned and concrete mixers churned, and builders wolf-whistled at local women from a half-built rooftop. Woodland here is being transformed into a hous­ing estate, rimmed by a newly built wall thick enough to please Hadrian, its bricks highlighted in passing by the headlights of commuter traffic.

      A small vixen with a slender face and wary eyes tugs at chips dropped by the workmen, slicing artificially flavoured potatoes with enlarged molars called carnassials which define her species as a member of the Carnivora. She digs under the perimeter fence, and darts across the main road, feet fast and brush bouncing, passing me as I walk my dog. Ironic, perhaps, for wolves – the ancestor of dogs – once lived here too, feeding foxes through scraps of deer meat. The last Home Counties wolf was killed in Hampshire 800 years ago. The crowds returning from London have forgotten; perhaps the woodland has not. In an ecosystem, every extinction is like snapping a link in a chain.

      But foxes themselves are in no danger of disappearing. Into a driveway the vixen turns, past trees native to China, through a side gate sealed against burglars, into a garden where another fox is burying Bakers Complete dog bis­cuits. The little vixen is an intruder in this territory. The resident flies at her, flipping her upside down, and skull-splitting screams – theatrical, but bloodless – pepper the night over the droning of the traffic.

      She struggles free, and bolts back across the road into the fragmented woodland. Her motive for this daring if ill-fated trespass is obvious: she is lactating and needs food and water to produce milk for her cubs. She is driven by an unquenchable instinct to survive.

      THAT WAS LAST YEAR’S DRAMA.

      I