‘Nice day,’ I said amiably.
He blinked again and said, ‘Nice enough.’
I wondered briefly how he would taste but decided he didn’t look too appetising. I seemed to remember from somewhere that his legs might be quite tasty, though.
‘Haven’t seen you around here before,’ he commented.
‘Just passing through,’ I replied.
‘Passing through? What does that mean?’
‘Well… I’m on a journey.’
‘A journey to where?’
‘To a town.’
‘What’s a town?’
‘A town. Where people live.’
‘People?’
‘Big things, on two legs.’
He shrugged. ‘Never seen them.’
‘Don’t people ever pass this way?’
‘Never seen them,’ he repeated. ‘Never seen a town, either. No towns here.’
‘There’s a town not too far off.’
‘Can’t be any such thing. Never seen one.’
‘No, not here in the woods, but further away.’
‘There is no other place.’
‘Of course there is. The world’s far bigger than just this woodland!’
‘What woodland?’
‘Around us,’ I said, indicating with my nose. ‘Beyond these nearby trees.’
‘There’s nothing beyond those trees. I only know those.’
‘Haven’t you ever gone further than this glade?’
‘What for?’
‘To see what else there is.’
‘I know all there is.’
‘You don’t. There’s more.’
‘You’re mistaken.’
‘You’ve never seen me before, have you?’
‘No.’
‘Well, I come from beyond the trees.’
He puzzled over this for a minute. ‘Why?’ he said finally. ‘Why have you come from beyond the trees?’
‘Because I’m passing through. I’m on a journey.’
‘A journey to where?’
‘To a town.’
‘What’s a town?’
‘Where people… oh, forget it!’
He did, instantly. The frog wasn’t really that concerned.
I stomped away, exasperated. ‘You’ll never turn into a handsome prince!’ I shouted over my shoulder.
‘What’s a handsome?’ he called back.
The conversation made me ponder over the animals’ point of view. This amphibian obviously thought that the world was only that which he could see. It wasn’t even that there was nothing beyond, for he had never even asked himself the question. And it was that way for all animals (apart from a few of us): the world consisted of only what they knew — there was nothing else.
I spent a restless and anxious night beneath an oak tree, the sound of an owl and its mate keeping me awake for most of the night. (It surprised me to discover the ‘to-whit-to-whoo’ was a combination of both birds — one hooted while the other twitted.) It wasn’t so much their calling to each other that bothered me, but their sudden swoops down on to vulnerable voles scurrying around in the dark below, the sudden screech culminating in the victim’s squeal of terror which disturbed and frightened me. I didn’t have the nerve to upset the owls, since they seemed vicious and powerful creatures, nor did I have the courage to wander around in the dark looking for a new sleeping-place. However, I did eventually fall into an uneasy sleep and the following morning I went hunting for chickens with my new friend, (I thought) — a red fox.
I awoke to the sound of yapping. It was still dark — I estimated dawn was a couple of hours away yet, and the yaps came from not too far off. Lying perfectly still, I tried to detect in which direction the yaps came from, and from whom. Were there pups in this wood? Sure that the owls were now at rest, I inched my way forward away from the trees, my senses keened, and had not gone far when I came across the fox’s earth in a hollow under a projecting tree-root. A musty smell of excrement and food remains hit my nostrils and then I saw four sets of eyes gleaming out at me.
‘Who’s there?’ someone said in a half-frightened, half-aggressive, manner.
‘Don’t be alarmed,’ I reassured them hastily. ‘It’s only me.’
‘Are you a dog?’ I was asked, and one set of eyes detached itself from the others. A fox skulked forward out of the gloom and I sensed rather than saw she was a she. A vixen.
‘Well?’ she said.
‘Er, yes. Yes, I’m a dog,’ I told her,
‘What do you want here?’ Her manner had become menacing now.
‘I heard your pups. I was curious, that’s all.’
She seemed to realise I was no threat and her attitude relaxed a little. ‘What are you doing in these woods?’ she asked. ‘Dogs rarely come in here at night.’
‘I’m on my way… somewhere.’ Would she understand what a town was?
‘To the houses where the big animals live?’
‘Yes, to a town.’
‘Do you belong to the farm?’
‘The farm?’
‘The farm on the other side of the woods. Over the meadows.’
Her world was larger than the frog’s.
‘No, I don’t belong there. I’m from a big town, a city.’
‘Oh.’
The vixen seemed to have lost interest now and turned back when a small voice called from the darkness.
‘Mum, I’m hungry!’ came the complaint.
‘Be quiet! I’m going soon.’
‘I’m hungry too,’ I said, and I really was.
The vixen’s head swung back to me. ‘Then go and find yourself some food!’
‘Er… I don’t know how to in a forest.’
She looked at me incredulously. ‘You can’t feed yourself? You can’t find yourself a rabbit, or a mouse, or a squirrel?’
‘I’ve never had to before. I mean, I’ve killed rats and mice, but nothing bigger than that.’
She shook her head in wonder. ‘How have you survived, then. Coddled by the big ones, I suppose — I’ve seen your kind with them. They even use you to hunt us!’
‘Not me! I’m from the city. I’ve never hunted foxes.’
‘Why should I believe you? How do I know you’re not trying to trick me?’ She showed me her pointed teeth in a grin that wasn’t a grin but a threat.
‘I’ll go away if you like, I don’t want to upset you. But perhaps me and your mate can go and find some food for all of us.’
‘I don’t have a mate any more.’ She spat the words out and I could feel the anger and hurt in them.
‘What happened to him?’ I asked.
‘Caught and killed,’ was all she would say.
‘Find us some food, Mum,’ came the plaintive cry again.
‘Well, perhaps I could help you,’ I suggested.
‘Huh!’ scoffed the vixen, then her voice changed. ‘There may be a way you can be used, though,’ she said thoughtfully.
I stiffened to attention. ‘Anything. I’m starving.’
‘All right, then. You kids stay here and don’t go outside! You hear?’
They heard.
‘Come on, you.’ The fox brushed past me.
‘Where too?’ I asked eagerly, following behind.
‘You’ll see.’
‘What’s your name?’ I called out.
‘Hush up!’ she whispered fiercely, then said, ‘What’s a name?’
‘What you’re called.’
‘I’m called fox. Vixen to be exact. You’re called dog, aren’t you?’
‘No, that’s what I am. Fox is what you are. I’m called Fluke.’
‘That’s daft. Flukes are flatworms!’