A big dog-fox bred on the fells, is no mean antagonist for a terrier; in fact, if the latter is a small one, it may on occasion meet death at the white fangs of the fox. Reynard is no coward; when forced to fight he can put up a terrific battle. In addition he can stand a lot of punishment.
That dread scourge, mange, seldom makes its appearance on the fells, and was unheard of until the importation of foxes from outside introduced it. There is no more horrid sight than a badly manged fox, hairless, and foul with disease.
Fell fox cubs are easy to rear, and make nice pets, but they must be kept scrupulously clean, and properly fed. I once gave a cub to a friend of mine, and it lived for over three years in captivity. It was kept in a stable, where an old pony shared the space. Pony and fox were great friends, and it was no uncommon sight to see the fox jumping on and off the pony’s back.
This fox became on quite friendly terms with a terrier, and on several occasions I photographed the two of them coupled together. The friendship made not the slightest difference to the utility of the terrier against other foxes, for on the day after I photographed him and his vulpine pal, he ran a long wet drain and collared his fox at the end of it, hounds having forced Reynard to ground.
THE ARMISTICE.
“Kelly,” one of the Coniston Hunt terriers, and “Jacky,” a tame fox.
I have previously said that fox cubs are easy to rear, and in a way they are, depending, however, on their age when taken from the breeding earth. When very young, say two or three days old, they are quite helpless, being both blind and toothless. At this stage of their existence they should be fed on milk. If a rubber teat with a very small aperture is used, they will learn to suck warm milk through it. At first I used to give cubs diluted milk, but they seem to thrive on new milk quite as well. When very young, the body covering of a cub is mouse-colour, but even at this tender age the tiny tail—hardly to be called a brush—often shows a white tip. Very young cubs must be kept warm, otherwise they are apt to chill and die suddenly. As they grow older, artificial heat may be dispensed with. Cubs open their eyes fully when about three weeks old, and at first their eyes are bluish-grey in colour. At something over three weeks the eyes begin to assume the amber hue of the eyes of the adult, and the coat commences to turn from mouse-colour to brown. At five weeks the cub can walk in rather a wobbly sort of way, but the legs rapidly gain strength. From this stage onward, cubs should be kept in a roomy kennel or other enclosure, as they become very active and playful, and delight in exercise.
When their teeth begin to appear, a small quantity of meat may be given them. Rabbit flesh with a bit of the skin and fur adhering to it is the best. After my cubs were big enough to take meat, they still preferred their milk by suction through a teat, and it required some patience and persuasion before they would lap from a saucer. They were fond of gnawing and playing with bones, and used to growl furiously if I interfered with their food. Absolute cleanliness of their abode is of vital importance if the cubs are to grow up healthy and well. Once they begin to feed heartily on meat, water is better for them than milk, and a clean supply should always be within their reach. In a wild state water is their only drink, and flesh, coupled with beetles, frogs, etc., their chief food. Mice, or, rather, field voles are the first creatures which the vixen teaches her cubs to stalk and kill. Both cubs and adult foxes devour quantities of these voles, and spend a good deal of time stalking them.
A fox stalks a vole in the same way that a cat goes about the business. Wandering along in the moonlight, on the prowl for anything edible, Reynard’s unerring nose warns him of the presence of a vole. A few paces ahead of him he sees the grass stems moving, beneath which the tiny rodent is at work. Step by step the fox makes his noiseless approach, until, within springing distance, he halts, then bounds straight on top of the vole, nose and forepaws coming down together. A crunch, a swallow, and the tit-bit disappears down Reynard’s throat. It is only a morsel, but evidently a tasty one, otherwise the fox would not waste so much of his time in pursuit of mice and voles.