Boundary Marker

Because this wood ain’t big enough for the both of us, or something like that.

Lift the counties, parishes and street names off an English map and you stare at the raw canvas: geology that props up a mindboggling array of different habitats, further rearranged by several thousand years of agriculture. There are borders on this map that are written in scratch marks and urine, and read through a sensitive nose.

And borders mean rules. If a land smells like a particular fox – because it has left its scent all over it – then that fox claims home advantage.

Foxes take a lackadaisical approach to territory. They live in small groups – typically a mated pair, and sometimes subordinate adults – and are more hostile to foxes outside this group than to those within. Some foxes are vagabounds and wander widely across the landscape, clashing noisily with territory residents. But even those with a land of their own will trespass if the prize – a mate or extra food – is tempting enough.

I’ve been wondering for some time about the relationships between foxes in this wood. At least three dogfoxes are regular visitors, not an easy balance. A fallen larch branch has turned into a marking post – both through the glands around their mouths and the more conventional, scat-based approach. Fox urine can persist in the environment longer than the average fox lifetime, and is easily detectable even to human nostrils.

Not that it always prevents fisticuffs.

For all the arched backs, upright brushes and theatrical gestures, I doubt the quarrel has been resolved for good. This wood is simply too attractive for anything that likes to eat earthworms; the rewards outweigh the risks. When the foxes finally go to rest, another earthworm predator swoops in to take over the feast.

This is a buzzard, one of the larger birds of prey in southern England. It, too, has its ideas of territory, as do the roe deer, badgers, dormice and shrews that write their own boundaries on the map. Our world is essentially a delicate, ever-changing riddle of small and natural boundary posts. 

Of Work and Play

Foxes personify elegant mystery, a touch of the alien in our familiar streets. That photo of the ‘ghost’ in the mist in my last post has become one of the most popular that I’ve ever shared on Facebook, but there is another side to Fox: whimsical, obsessive…shoe-loving.

“Why?” is the thought that comes to many minds. Science cannot interview foxes to ascertain their motives. It can, however, confirm that foxes adore shoes, all shoes, everywhere in the world it seems. Some, like the vixen jokingly called ‘Imelda’ in Germany, become specialists in it and collect hundreds. A couple of winters ago, one fox in my village took five wellington boots.

And even in remote corners of the world, in lands like India’s Thar Desert – where people blend with mirages over the salty flats – there are thefts.

p1c desert fox shoe

Because there are foxes.

p1 desert fox1

A captured shoe is typically chewed, tossed about, urinated on and abandoned. Adults are at least as prone to this behaviour as cubs. The leathery texture might be pleasant for their mouths, but in truth they readily snatch any ‘toy’ that we leave within their grasp. Gloves, dog toys, footballs – if they can lift it, they will play with it. The portrayal of Swiper in Dora the Explorer is not really unreasonable.

They retain their moments of frivolity, even as the breeding season peaks. Scent-marking continues in the woods, and their barks echo through the chill damp at night.

Our world has ground to a standstill again, but theirs keeps on turning.