What does the fox say? Help.

Thursday morning, before drinking my first cup of coffee, I spied a fox frolicking in the grass  – then another. A baby? The little one was romping and jumping while the large fox watched attentively. I poured my cup of coffee, so excited to see the smaller of the two running in my direction. I grabbed my iPhone to capture the cuteness. It looked like it was carrying something in its mouth. A ball?

No.

What appeared to be a ball from the distance turned out to be a white plastic container and his little head was stuck in it.

My heart fell. I watched the mother (I assume), pacing, trying to corral him as he ran into things – rocks in the middle of the manicured lawn, a small tree trunk, a curb.

I grabbed the phone and called 911. Sorry, it was my instinct.

“What’s your emergency?’

I apologized and explained that I was fine and no human was hurt but a fox in front of my home was in distress – his head was stuck in a container. I went on to ask for the right number or department to call. The dispatcher was kind and supportive and actually took down all of my details explaining I would likely hear from the Colorado Parks and Wildlife department. Her final remarks: “Whatever you do, don’t try to help. If that’s his mother, she could attack.”

I was alone and felt completely hopeless. So I grabbed my coffee, my keys and got in the car. I decided to move to the entrance of the complex so that if they fled I could at least point the Wildlife department in the right direction. I watched from my car for about 45 minutes. The little one was wandering but staying within the site.

While I sobbed.

The sun was fully up and activity increased as my neighbors began to drive off, each to begin their workday. I lost sight of the fox. I drove around the small area and confirmed that they were, in fact, nowhere to be seen.

The Colorado Parks and Wildlife department officer arrived at 9 a.m. – two and a half hours after I first phoned. The fox were long gone. We scouted the area and found several dens. One was conveniently located about ten feet from a garbage bin – discovered when we followed the trail of trash directly to the hideaway. The officer handed me her card. I tried to thank her but found myself unable to speak – my throat was tight and tears were imminent. I just smiled and shrugged my shoulders. She looked uncomfortable but was kind and told me to call her anytime.

I woke up early the next morning on fox watch. No sign of them. Same result the following morning.

We went away for the weekend and returned during a surprisingly wicked spring snowstorm.

I typically see fox at dusk, or, in the winter, during an early morning snowfall. At twilight Sunday, amidst the white dusting mixed with rain, a small fox darted through our back yard toward the open space across the street. A beautiful fox with a head covered in nothing but fur. I choose to believe that he was my little friend, free. Because I can’t bear to consider the alternative

***

Epilogue

1. I’m bitterly reminded of just how dangerous our trash is to animals. We need to clean things up.

• Protecting Wildlife from Trash
• The Deadly Truth About Trash

2. Gary Smith of the The Thinking Vegan messaged me a link to Animal Help Now, which happens to serve Colorado (and beyond). You can bet I’ve bookmarked the site (and downloaded the app). Also check out a primer from PETA on dealing with Wildlife Emergency.

Tags: what does the fox say? help.wildlifewildlife and litter

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