It is getting a bit ridiculous, you know. Not that long ago, it was somewhat exotic to see foxes and turkeys around our house. No more. One day earlier this summer, as I was walking out to the garden, I turned the corner of the house, and there – less than 15 feet away – was an adult turkey standing beneath our bird feeder. She was obviously gleaning the seeds that had fallen onto the ground. On seeing me she moved away – “”raced” or “fled” would be too strong a word. She walked, with that stately awkwardness that gallinaceous birds have, to the other end of the yard, perhaps sixty feet away. I stood still, just to see what the bird would do. She apparently took my measure and, slowly but deliberately, stalked her way back to the place where she had been, and began pecking the ground again, aware of but obviously unfazed by my presence.
Then, about a week later, I saw two foxes – a vixen and a smaller kit - down near our boules court. Actually our poodle Sam noticed them first, barking imperiously but apparently with no effect – at least as far as the foxes were concerned. They were relaxed, sunning themselves on the court. The vixen’s eyes remained alert, but they looked – how shall I say it? – at home. Over the next several days, we saw them in various places around the yard, sometimes from our deck, no more than thirty feet away, as they went calmly about their business, whatever that was. I looked for the den in the wooded slope behind the house, but couldn’t find it.
Then, just a few days ago, sitting at my desk, I heard a clear, steady, “pock – pock – pock – pock – pock – pock.” Following the sound, I walked out onto our deck and there, in front of the shed, was a hen turkey pocking away. She kept taking steps in different directions, and pausing, as if she were looking for something. At one point she began walking down the drive and for a second I actually thought she might be going to get the mail.
Then she came back, and I saw she had with her a single, very small turkey chick, no bigger than a duckling. Now her sound became a soft, soothing chr-r-r-r-r, as she hovered over the chick as it pecked its way through the tall grass.
One hen turkey, one chick. One mother fox, one kit. Some kind of natural drama was working itself out in our yard. I was intrigued, but my interest was pre-empted by another feeling – that of being somehow - irrelevant. These animals were using my property: my lawn, my bird feeder – for their own purposes. That was O.K. We like to observe our wild neighbors, even encourage them, but we don’t like to feel irrelevant. These creatures seemed, if not oblivious, at least largely unconcerned with my presence. In fact, they were, I realized, going about their business as if I weren’t there.
Then today I heard Sam barking furiously at the walkout door to our basement. I went to look, and there, standing at the corner of the shed, was the fox. She stood looking at both of us, calmly, as if to say, “What’s all the fuss about?” And then, nice as you please, she slipped beneath the corner of the shed into the den she had made beneath the floor boards – the shed I had built with my own two hands.
