THE FOX

— Plainly the fox belongs to a different sort than that which reigns in the village . Our courts, though they offer a bounty for its hide, and our churches, though they draw many a moral from its cunning, are in few senses contemporary with its free forest life. —

H.D. Thoreau .

I sat there in the woods yesterday morning on my John Deere Gator, positioned to best absorb the features of my favorite spot. It was always a navigational bearing on the farm when trying to describe a specific location.

Bessie calved only a hundred feet from where “the three streams meet .”

It being Spring, the water flow was vigorous enough to be pleasantly audible. What a gorgeous morning ! How lucky was I.

Presently a fox trotted in my direction , but paid no attention to me or the green machine that I was perched upon. Bushy, red and handsome, not the least obeisance made the fox as he sauntered by the Gator.

If there was a way, how I would have thanked the fox for his momentary curtain call. He made my day!

What was he doing on his seemingly oblivious jaunt this morning ? If he was hunting, which was probably the case, he had a funny way of showing it. What did the Presbyterians say about his cunning ?

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