Early the next morning Houston arrived! I always like it when Houston is here. Houston and I are the bestest of best friends. She used to live here, but she doesn’t anymore. Now she lives in Alamosa, Colorado, and comes to visit us at least twice a month.
The second Houston gets a chance she heads over to my part of the farm to see me and Mom. Mom always has a treat ready for her. Then Houston heads back to her part of the farm. Sometimes I go with her and sometimes I don’t.
Anywho…Houston arrived– mom gave us treats — we decided to head back to the other side of the farm to see Etta and Rocky. It was on the way back to the other side of the farm we ran into Rusty!
Rusty is ONE of the foxes who make their den on the farm. Rusty was high tailing it as fast as he could away from Etta and Rocky’s yard.
“WHOA! STOP!” I bayed. “What were you doing down at Etta’s and Rocky’s yard!” I hollered.
“NOTHING! NOTHING AT ALL!” Rusty yelled back at us, as he kept running.
Houston took off…dashing madly after Rusty!
“What were you doing at the farm?” Houston growled at Rusty as she pounced on Rusty’s tail causing him to slam to a stop!
“Ah, er, um….nothing.” Rusty yipped his sharp cunning eyes darting this way and that.
“Nothing?!” I pondered…”Like as in nothing—just making sure the chickens were in their proper place in the yard!” I took a step closer to Rusty.
“Well,” a rush of water suddenly flowed out of Rusty’s mouth, SLURP, his big red tongue came out and slicked up all the slobbers, as a cunning smile played on his face. “I was just wondering, slurp, drool, if maybe…just maybe a poor young chicken has wandered away from the chicken yard…you know, sorta SLURP, lost its way and I could—well—you see—help it find its way, so to speak.”
Houston let go of Rusty’s tail; growled, a low menacing sound low in her throat.
I took two steps closer and slunk down in the crouch Fuzzy showed me when going after wayward cows. (If it works for cows, I reasoned, it should work for a fox!)
Rusty whipped around to face us. “Hey, now…slow down…I was, er, slurp…HUNGRY! OKAY! I am HUNGRY! It’s been forever since I ate…”
Houston took two steps closer.
“I mean…look…six pheasant eggs, a Mallard duck, and twenty mice just don’t fill up a fox. We need LOTS and LOTS and LOTS of protein.” Rusty was slowly, ever so slowly backing up…two steps back, stop, two more steps back.
Gradually Houston and I got Rusty the Fox, to the old Apricot tree when he broke and ran.
“Whew! That was hard work!” exclaimed Houston… “For a second or two there I almost felt sorry for that fox, but the look in his eye told me he was a con-fox if there ever was one!”
Houston and I turned as one and trotted back to the farm house where Rocky and Etta live, chuckling at this great adventure we just had. Catching a fox is a big deal…threating him to run away even bigger!