Tervicz' Blog

My first post here in a very long time! This is a story I wrote and as it is more mainstream than I usually write and I find it interesting as a story I decided to publish it here in public. Beware, it is a lengthy story! People may find it controversial and provocative, but it is what I wanted to write and to write about.



Tervicz’ war




When I heard the mother heart beating as well as my own and those of my sibling, I knew life had returned to me. Somehow my memory was more vivid than other times. The pain I experienced during my previous death still lingered. What was done to me was unfair and unjust and should not have happened, but it was not my choice. There was no other way at the time, no way to go without pain.
Nicht wieder! Never again! What was done should not be done any more. But how could I make a difference? Did it matter? I would make it matter. Those beasts should be brought to justice! But I needed time, time to grow up and time to orientate myself on this world and figure out the timeline.
Time was the one thing I had very little of. The parent foxes were under constant pressure and nervous. Both had scars on them, bite wounds and burns. And very often they would cower near me and my siblings while the stench of humans, beer and dogs descended down into the hole. Yet somehow they seemed to miss our den.

As siblings there were only two: my brother and my sister. Two others had not survived their first day outside the mother. Food was adequate, consisting mostly of rodents. But of course we had to wait to feed on them, until we were strong enough to leave the den.
For the time being our parents were a little more at ease. The humans in our neighbourhood seemed to have other concerns during these spring months. But how long their lack of interest would last I could not tell. Work was being done on the fields surrounding our bush. Machines and tractors were harrowing and fertilizing, while pastures were readied for livestock.
Conveniently the time of rest was a gift to me and my sibling, perfect to mature and get ready for adult life. Games of tag and chase were part of the training, but my personal course to adult life was much more intense and involved regaining skills of the past. Grabbing onto a stick and keeping it steady in my front paw was difficult at first, but with trial and error I managed to hold on and press it into the ground before dragging lines which eventually evolved into letters.
Space was scarce as we were sure not to reveal our location. Only within the bush could we move freely, out of sight and at dark hours, until our parents considered us fit and ready to know the territorial boundaries. And when I became aware of the surroundings and read the few road signs I realised the nature of the enemy and his mindset. This was the United States, way in the South East.


Growing up fast I made sure to know the terrain as good as possible. When my father went on hunt and patrol I joined him as often as he tolerated it. Wisely I refrained from being a burden and kept quiet right behind the adult male fox as he foraged the area for food. But it wasn’t long before I had to use my skills to deal with human scum.
It must have been early June or late May when one of our patrols turned awkward. Just as we left the den area my father stepped into a leg trap, which was not there the day before. For a moment he was in a state of panic and tried to break free violently. He began to call out for help, and I knew that was the last thing he should do around here. There was not time to waste!
Luckily the leg trap was not too complicated and a simple switch at one end would release the fox. Dropping a small rock right on top of the handle was enough for it to open. Gratefully my father turned around and praised me with an ear wash. But my work was not done yet and using more rocks I set out to destroy the trap and dispose of it. We were lucky though, as a snare would have been more difficult to handle for me. But the stage was set for my first clash with the humans.

More traps were set each evening, throughout the territory. More were set each day, but as I managed to disable and destroy them none ever caught anything. Leg traps, snares and even the dreaded suspended baited hooks were set out. For the latter I had to use my tree climbing skills, then hoist them up and disable by embedding them into the wood of the branch they were hung on.
Meanwhile the trappers were left in wonder, suspecting a ‘liberal saboteur’ or ‘animal activist’ infiltrator messing with their affairs. On occasion watches were set up to observe the sabotage, but as the guards were mostly the young sons and cousins of the community they were most unsuccessful identifying me as the culprit. And the one time an observer actually did see me destroying a trap, he was so soaked in beer no one believed him and suspicion began to turn into ugly gossip. And it wasn’t as I had any regret about causing these in fights, these beasts earned nothing better.

Early summer came and my family was flourishing. On every hunt or patrol my parents had me there and let me sniff out both traps and observing humans. They were set on ducks and caught a couple of them. My siblings and I had a feast as well as the adult foxes, and the ducks had an honourable end as well, quick and swift and at least their meat came to a better use than being served to a fat monkey.
It was a good time, and the humans were eluded again and again, ignorant of what they were up against. For a moment, I almost forgot the seriousness of the business I was in. But the reality of the day returned when on a minesweeping patrol I encountered a stuck coyote pup. A snare entangled both his front paws and they were bleeding from the cutting wire.
Normally coyotes were our enemy. They would not hesitate to snap up a fox, adult or pup. But today we had a common enemy and I was not willing to let this coyote, who was no older than me, to fall into enemy hands and be killed. And I approached it and because I was no human but a fox, smaller than he was, the coyote was not frightened. Softly I talked to it, as good as a fox could talk.
“Easy, my friend. I will help you. Do not resist or attack me. I am a friend!”
It was easy for the coyote to understand my intensions. He did not show aggression when I settled up close and inspected the trap. Simple and crude, a wire was looped and knotted. It would tense and cut into the animal as it struggled. But simplicity was also its downfall as I could just feed wire into the loop to loosen it. My training had involved to stretch the manipulation of my paws and digits as far as I could so I could handle wire when I folded it to double its width.
Slowly, but steadily the tension on the coyote’s paws eased. The snare simply slid off the coyote in the end as blood again fed his limbs. Luckily he hadn’t been in the snare for too long to be permanently damaged. The pup was in pain obviously because of the wounds, but he would live.
While the coyote recovered I took care of the snare, looping it on a suitable wooden log, detaching it from its hold and finally burying it so not a single creature could be hurt by it. Then I waited along with the coyote, licking his wounds for a time until eventually one of his parents came to find him.
It was a good thing neither of my parents were here as for sure the adults would have made a protective stance against the coyotes which would have turned ugly. I was to face them alone, without support. When the parent sniffed the pup she understood I helped him and showed no aggression toward me. She made a stance above me as the pup came to his feet and tried to cope with his sore feed. There was no time to waste as in the distance humans were stepping closer.
“Go! And live long and prosperous!”
And so they disappeared into the dark shades of the woods. So should I, I knew, but I could not leave without leaving my message, the first of many. Taking hold of a sharp piece of wood, using both paws to keep it steady while I dragged it through the soil.
“Somebody was hurt here by your snare. I suppose you scum should be proud for doing so!”


The rescue of the coyote pup, along with my inscription, further infuriated the local farmer and hunter community. Suspicions and accusations ran freely as for sure there was a saboteur among them. Each accusation was promptly succeeded by counter accusations. It was not my intension at first to cause the in fights, but they were a welcome relief and helpful to my efforts.
However there were a few who began to listen to the drunk youth who claimed to have seen a fox destroy the traps and set free foxes and other animals. He was the prime suspect for sabotage, although in the past he had been a vivid apprentice hunter, taught by his father, uncles and grandfather.
When a small group of young men entered the woods, I caught their intensions by stalking them and listening to them. They had been assigned to set up traps, but to investigate the claims of a fox destroying them, they only set up a couple in obvious exposed positions which they could observe throughout the night until I would show up. And then they planned to shoot me with one single shot, as the lead youngster boasted his marksmanship from his army service.
For hours I observed them and listened in on their conversations. They only had a couple of topics to talk about: how they and their family would kill foxes and coyotes and an occasional bobcat or deer. Obviously their personal stories were greatly exaggerated, but what they told about their parents and uncles sent shivers across my spine, as if they were true then there was no limit to their cruelty toward foxes and other predators. Eradication! By all means possible! That was the main theme of the night.
Eventually as the night progressed, their intoxication augmented. Their sharpness was dropping; their attention and discipline went down the drain. Some turned noisy scaring off anything which by accident would have stepped into their traps.
Idle the young hunters’ gun stood up against a tree. They were all bored and buzzed, and none paid attention when the gun slipped and fell down. None noticed how I dragged it into the shade, opened everything which could be opened, including the scope on top which only took a couple of twists, before relieving my bladder on it not only coating it with a nasty smell but also unavoidably invite corrosion. Then I dragged it off a little further, out of sight so that before they find it the urine could do its job.
The fancy piece of equipment they dragged along was a night vision binocular. It seemed brand new and according to the son of the owner it was the latest used for US combat troops. To obtain it his old man had to pull a lot of strings, but now they got it the gimmick would serve them well for night hunting. It also looked quite expensive and due to the late hour no one had taken a look at it for a while. No one was observing the traps and each of them longed for their bed.
Quietly I crept close to the camp and approached the observation post. The binoculars were there, unattended and ready for the taking. But I had no means of taking it out, as it was quite rigid and tough, extremely well made and with durable material. The campfire seemed the most logical place to dispose of it. The perfect place, right under their nose as they were barely awake.
It was too good to be true. Of course at first my entry my presence didn’t register. But then one of the guys, the one who had seen me destroy traps, pointed frantically and called out to the others. Then all hell broke out as the youths took notice of what I was doing.
“Get the gun!”
“It’s not there!”
“Don’t tell me you lost my gun! Find it!”
The infighting gave me the opportunity to drag the binoculars a little closer and place it right up against the smouldering wood.
“Get that fox! Don’t you see what he’s doing? He’s trying to destroy our equipment!”
One of them found retrieved a baseball bat, tugged away in his gear. Its tip was covered with an iron ball and for sure it had deadly potential. The young man stepped right onto me while the others blocked my escape routes. However I did have enough room to evade when he struck out. First he hit the ground, then swept sideways on which I jumped above the bat to evade. As he swung it he hit the binoculars once leaving a dent on it. That made me think and step a little closer to the binoculars, finally sitting almost on top of it. The others screamed as they saw what was about to happen, but it was too late. When he slashed down I stepped away and the binoculars split open. A relief really, as that could have been my skull. Fragmented parts rained onto the ground and into the fire. Mission accomplished.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Don’t worry! I’ll fix it, right after I fixed this little!”
The son of the owner, who obviously had no authorisation on bringing it along, wept and cried as he picked up the pieces. He was in no condition to hurt me, but the one with the bat was. So I stepped up close to the weeping country boy as the bully readied himself for another swing. The others quickly stepped in and disarmed him, at which point their blockade was broken and I could escape. For after all, there were still traps out there to be dismantled as soon as possible.
“He pissed on our gun!”
And so they found their gun, drenched in fox urine and in no state to be used. Urine had gone into every opening, crack and along every screw and button and it was stinking. And the scope on top was ruined. And as they inspected the gun where it was found they would have seen my inscription on the ground.
“Drag your filthy ass home, bully! You are not welcome here!”

The fallout from their failure was so devastating we, the foxes and all the others in the woods, were left alone for the rest of summer. Due to their extensive use of alcohol the youngsters were not taken serious and their punishment for the caused damage came in the form of hard labour, disowning of heritages by fathers, revoking of permits and a sharp reduction of their free time.
Consequently the youngsters became reluctant to cooperate with hunting efforts and no longer helped setting up traps. The older men didn’t have much time often and the fact that I disabled and destroyed countless of them every night made the effort quite pointless.
As long as the saboteur was not identified the hired professional trappers were also reluctant to help out. Cyanide poisoned bait and other more sophisticated traps were equally disabled and destroyed, by use of sticks on the ground. Surely this could not have been done by a fox and the cost caused the professionals to move out and turn their back to the jack boot community. Accusations, in fighting and insults ran freely along the farms of the region. And I had no remorse. As far as I was concerned these bloodthirsty slime moulds could rot in hell.


The family did well as summer progressed. My parents and my siblings were pretty much at ease and much less nervous as they had been when we were born. There was little time left before disperse would happen and we would all go our own way. It also meant that providing for my own food became a more important activity. Luckily rodents were plenty.
The humans were quiet due to the heat and their internal struggle. But I knew the day would come when they would avenge their failure. A close eye I had to keep on them, staying close to farmhouses and listening in on conversations. It also allowed me to do some moderate damage, dismantling whatever weapon was left unattended either outside or at remote sheds.

The enemy was unaware of me mostly, blaming any damage on human saboteurs. But I ran out of luck when one of the farm dogs raised the alarm. By that time the one available gun was disabled, coated in fox urine and the barrel stuffed with mud. The farmer unleashed one of his dogs on me and so I ran as fast as I could into the woods.
Escaped was not a problem, as the terrain was good and my knowledge of dogs and men was sufficient to anticipate their moves. But the incident caused the humans to think twice about the youngsters’ accounts. My mission was accomplished as the gun was pretty much ruined and would cost to either be salvaged or replaced.
This was the first time the hunters deployed dogs on me. Only two were released. And despite their speed and apparent knowledge of the terrain, they did not succeed in keeping track of me. Again and again I circled around them as they followed my scent; unleashing mock attacks from behind, nipping the rear dog’s hind legs before disappearing again.
They were going nuts and ventured deep into the woods. Their master did not follow close. In fact the man was still at his farm having a drink, confident the dogs were trained enough to handle themselves. However he did not anticipate the woods could be hazardous even for a well trained hound, if the pup did not get support. Their chase came to an abrupt end when a pack of coyotes suddenly surrounded them and they realised they were now trapped. The coyote pup and his mother I met earlier were there, and it seemed they were here to return the favour. But as I did not feel much for bloodshed I turned to the hounds who nervously tried to face the coyotes who took turns in their mock attacks.
“Pups, turn home! Go back to your humans and stay there! If you don’t hurt us, we won’t hurt you. But if you persist you will be facing the consequences.”
A whine and a whimper followed and the dogs were backing up. But they were unsure. They were now far beyond their familiar grounds and coyotes were behind them as well as in front of them. The longer they stayed there, the bigger became the chance of escalation. And if that happened the coyotes would be made to pay beyond a doubt. So I had to step in and walk up to them, and then guide them through the coyote pack at an easy pace. All the way I guided them until the edge of the woods close to their farm so they could easily pick up the road home. For sure they did not turn to attack me again, as they were fed up with this chase.


For the moment an uneasy truce was between coyotes and foxes, with very few violent clashes and no casualties I was aware of. Obviously the coyotes were now aware there was a fox in the neighbourhood who was beneficial to them and a valuable ally in their conflict with humans.
On the other side of the fence little more was going on except the persistent conflict and search for the saboteur. However my latest action had made the farmer think twice about the youths’ account of their failed hunt. His gun was soaked and disable in almost the same fashion as the one his nephew had lost.
The matter was intriguing, yet he could not grasp why I was taking it out on guns and traps. He could not comprehend that my intension was to stop his threat to my family as well as other foxes and animals the community targeted. His resolve now was to stop me.

Early in the morning somewhere at late summer, as I had just taken some rest after a patrol duty, disposing of the few traps left within the territory, the onslaught began. They were using calls, recorded animal sounds, to attract the foxes and promptly shoot them.
There was little I could do, as the shooters were dispersed across a field bordering the woods. There weren’t too many of them, but each observed one area of the field so that flanking them or approaching them would have been suicide. I did not know how many were in the attack either.
Only one measure I could take to counter their efforts: to call out danger warnings. And a number of foxes turned back on the call when they heard it. But I was alone up against the hunters and not all foxes heard me. Furthermore the hunters took shots at anything which looked like a fox, right into the woods if they thought they saw the shouting fox and I had to take cover regularly to avoid being hit.

By late afternoon a total of twelve foxes had fallen. When the shooters called the day and congratulated each other they collected them and took them to one of the farms, the farm from which I escaped with the hounds on my tail. I followed the shooters and observed them as they entered the yard and placed the dead foxes on a yard table before entering the main building to celebrate their catch.
There were no dogs to be seen, no humans taking notice of my approach even though it was still broad daylight. The first thing to do was to hop onto that table and try to identify the foxes. Only one was familiar: my mother. A sad day, but the siblings were already walking off at this stage. The others were strangers who nonetheless deserved proper respect as my mother did.
Extending from the court yard there was a slight hill elevated above the farm. I knew the place and knew the ground was loose enough for digging, as I had used the hill several times to observe the farm. That’s where I needed to go and give these foxes a final resting place.
First I had to knock each fox off the table. Then each fox was to be dragged at the scruff of the neck up the hill, quite a distance, but the terrain wasn’t too bad. One-by-one the foxes were place along the hill top. This took a long time as the foxes were heavy to me, but the humans were having too much fun and would not leave the house for hours as that was the amount of time I needed to complete this part of the task.
Finally, when each fox was taken off the farm where I wanted them to be a deep hole was to be dug, as deep as I could, for each fox to be dropped in and then buried under. A couple of rocks were then added on top of each grave to mark them and protect them. Then I took the next fox, and repeated the process, creating a symmetrical arrangement of graves. The whole burial process took me as long as it took to drag them up this hill. But I did not stop for a single moment until the job was done.
By sunset I was down to the last couple of foxes to be dug under, the last fox would be my mother. Right then I heard the creeping door of the farm house as the lot came out to inspect and undoubtedly skin their quarry. They were in for a shock surprise seeing each single one of those foxes were gone. I heard them shout at each other and call for the ones inside to have a look. When they were all out the elder shooter took notice of the tracks in the soil and it did not take long before they noticed me busy on top of the hill.
“Hey, look! It’s that fox! Our saboteur!”
“Get him! What’s he doing?”
I had had the reflex to pile up the dirt in the direction of the farm. And now this method served me as two bullets hit the pile instead of me, their aim was inaccurate due to the alcohol they took. I heard the boots hit the rocks along the path uphill, but I did not stop what I was doing. I did not break off the job even as they were almost on top of me, when they stopped and noticed what exactly I was doing.
The fox I dropped into the pit and then dropped the pile onto him until he was covered completely and the hole was filled. One of the youngsters was about to take a shot at me, but he was stopped by the lead shooter, the farmer who had earlier unleashed a couple of hounds on me.
All the better as somewhere some of them seemed to have manners. Or they might have been too perplexed by what they saw to act as they usually did: kill without mercy. As the youth was stopped and had his gun taken I gave the shooters a serious and unmistakable look of irritation and contempt.
“Are you going to help me or are you lots going to be assholes?”
They could not and did not mistake my expression for anything else, as I stepped toward my mother to bury her as well. Most of the shooters couldn’t believe their eyes, others were intrigued yet uneasy. The farmer crouched behind me leaning on the gun and watched me dig the hole. I ignored him and tended my job until the hole was deep enough. Then I got out and grabbed my mother with my paws and my jaws lodged on her bloodied neck before dragging her in. Finally I licked her farewell, abandoned the hole and covered her with dirt and rocks.
“Can you believe that? Do foxes bury their dead? We should take pictures!”
But the farmer shook his head.
“We should do no such thing! Do you know what the consequences would be if word of this got out? No one would want to ever see a dead fox again!”
Clearly I heard the farmer and I gave him my look of contempt. I gave him the look of a beaten up dog. And then I took hold of a stick and dragged another text message into the soil.
“Be sure proud of what you did here!”
For sure it didn’t look as funny and satisfying when a fox tended the dead foxes they claimed, not as much as they were sprayed on that table. I hoped somewhere in that thick skull a light might turn on and make them see the seriousness of what they did and that they would see this was not a fun or pleasurable sight, but a very sad one. Scratching their heads in confusion and disbelief they watched me as I calmly stepped away, clearly considering them as nothing but trash. And the farmer watched me, uneasy being revealed what I could do and unsure whether he should be ashamed and repent or shoot me at once before I caused yet more trouble and confusion.
“Hey fox!”
I looked back at him, showing that indeed I understood him clearly.
“Are you taking this all personal, fox?”
Supposedly he never had to retrieve his mother from those who killed her, then bury her under the eyes and smelling the beer stench of those same killer. I suppose he wasn’t part of a persecuted species either, having to step in to protect and help those who were in need of help. But I was just a fox, wasn’t I. And for sure I could not take any killing of friends and family personal, could I? The question earned no more of an answer than a shrug and then I let them be.


War was about to break out again. The happy days of summer, the relative peace while humans were left in wonder, came to an end as the full hunting season was about to begin. “The war against predators” as the enemy referred to their onslaught would not hold back on methods to kill anything which could do as much as reduce their take on the other wildlife.
Those who were aware of me, had kept quiet about me as much as possible. I was a target as I meant trouble and could do much more damage to their hobby than all the other animals together. However they would not see me easily and neither did they have any coherent plan to get, except to kill as many as possible and hope I would be among the dead.
When the first the first day started I was there. There were not too many traps as naturally they would not risk injuring themselves, their dogs and were pretty much fed up with the persistent demolition of their traps. This also helped me to devote more time to the hunters and less to patrol.
The method they would use this time was to lure us with calls. I knew of their plans by listening in on conversations and observing the instalment of these calls. So the first thing I did was to warn as many as possible, including the coyotes, not to respond to any audio sounds attempting to bring them closer, including distress calls of prey, young and other coyotes or foxes.
Furthermore any of these devices which were put out at the edge of the woods I set out to take out, using my scent and staying low to the ground. Occasionally a bullet would impact close, but none hit and the remote calls fell silent one-by-one. And then fun began as they would leave their positions to check why the call was stopped, exposing their positions to me, inviting me to visit the place and mess with their equipment while they found their device pretty much beyond repair.
On the first day not a single coyote, bobcat, racoon or fox was killed, at least not on my watch. On the second day the shooters tried to protect their calls by placing them up close, but that made them quite ineffective since the distance between the woods and the hiding places was wide and of course the others did take my advice by heart and did not show themselves. Some of them were taken out nevertheless as they most did not figure I would get this close, often right underneath the gun barrels pointing at the field.

Two days did not offer a single kill for the shooters and they all needed to get back to work. And so the opening stage of their so-called war came at a loss for them, as some of their equipment was taken out, ammo was littered wherever I could litter them. Hide outs had been soaked in fox urine and had to be cleaned if they were to be used again. I was even able to take a couple of guns as the shooters tried to fix the calls and did not attend the guns while doing so.
Overall the balance was in my favour, no casualties and the enemy had lost some time and resources. There could be no hunting until the next weekend at least due to filled agendas and work related issues. But they would not leave it at that I knew and those aware of me were already rethinking their tactics.
Considering their options they all knew so far every single attempt to take me out had failed. Traps, guns and calls all failed and were even taken out, costing them more and more as each strike failed. And so hounds were proposed and considered the best option by most. The elder farmer however pointed that there were insufficient dogs available at the moment to perform such a hunt, that hounds were trained to track a certain target species but were not standard trained for distinguishing individual animals and that my observed intelligence predicted a good chance of failure and even catastrophe, that this fox was not to be underestimated at any stage.
Unfortunately the youths ignored and overruled the farmer’s objections. Hounds were to be assembled; a bounty was to be issued for the tracker who could haunt me down with his hounds and dispose of me. But they had to be sure it was me to issue the bounty. Therefore they would have to test the fox before disposal. How they would test me, they were unsure yet.

For a couple of weeks the hunters were quiet. Outsiders had seen too much damage from those first couple of days and had moved to other areas where there were no saboteurs, human or otherwise. It was a welcome break as those two days offered me little sleep or nourishment.
Then one morning, as the fall began, a human voice was calling, shouting and travelling through the woods.
“Fox! Come out now!”
It was the farmer, who had come out into the woods, unarmed and unaccompanied, to see me. Carefully I shadowed him as he was oblivious of my location. Wisely I remained within the cover while assessing the risk.
“Fox! I know you can hear me and I know you can understand me! Come out! I am not armed and do not intend to kill you at today! I only wish to speak to you! Come out to where I am, fox!”
Finally, I gave him a chance offering him a glimpse, but kept away so that he could not make any move on concealed weapons he might have before I could escape. He saw me, and then took off his coat revealing that indeed he had no concealed guns, clubs or knives. The only thing he kept was a small metal rod, with a rubber handle at one end. Then he stood and waited, watching me, before crouching and tossing the rod in my direction.
“Draw your words in the soil if you wish to reply!”
I stepped closer, approached the rod and took a hold of it. The tool was small enough to fit through my digits and stay there comfortably.
“I see you like that thing. Good! I suppose you can keep it.”
A polite nod I gave him, but he was still the enemy as far as I am concerned.
“Hunting has basically become impossible at this place. Your efforts chased off the seasoned hunters, trappers, broke our equipment, weapons. Your pranks have lasted long enough and we will be putting an end to it. The hounds will be unleashed and they will not stop until they caught you!”
And then it was my turn and I used the rod to write.
“You were and are a threat to my family, my friends, to anything which lives inside these woods. Foxes, coyotes, racoons and many others live in fear of you. You killed my mother, who I buried right under your nose. I saved a coyote caught and hurt in your trap, I saved many others when nullified your efforts. So send your hounds and I will stop them so that no harm will come to anyone.”
A grunt came out as the man read my phrases.
“Our dogs will not stop until they get you. Whether they kill you themselves or whether we do it when you get cornered down a hole or up a tree does not matter, the end result will be the same. Will you kill them? Will you take them out? There will be too many for you! Tomorrow you will die!”
My blood boiled. What was the point of this meeting? Was he trying to scare me? I had heard the dogs, days before as they arrived.
“I believe you underestimate me once more! Do you think these are the first dogs I ever faced on the battlefield? I will face them and I may defeat your efforts. There is one place where they cannot go!”
And place was highway 95 which ran at the border of the area. And since the hunt was scheduled for tomorrow there was not a thing he could to prevent me from pursuing my plan physically.
“So you will kill those hounds? You are no better than us! You kill as well!”
“Because I need to survive! Killing is your hobby. No hounds need to be killed if you call off the hunt. And I don’t need to be a problem if you call off your ‘war’ on us.”
“Unacceptable! This is our land!”
“It is mine too and I will protect my family, my kind and all the others you bullies pick on.”
This conversation was going nowhere and I had no intention to stay there and waste my time on just another bully.
“Wait! I came here to talk!”
“This is not a talk, this is intimidation. Call off the hunt! Then we can talk.”
“Or, you could come along and then there would be no need for a hunt.”
“And then you would kill me and these woods would once again become a killing zone for the others.”
The man sighed and became frustrated.
“We are not making progress!”
“End the war! Ensure that no fox or coyote gets killed by human hands! Make sure your community leaves us alone and maybe I will come along. But I, Tervicz the Fox, will not submit until your boot comes off our chest.”
For a moment the man hesitated.
“I cannot speak for the others. They would not listen.”
“Then you have nothing to talk about. I am the hope for those you pick on here and I will not give up! Do whatever you want and I will do what is necessary. These negotiations are terminated!”
A brief moment I waited until the man read my final words, then I erased them again as I had done throughout the conversation. A moment later I was gone.


Indeed as the farmer announced, the next day by sunrise a large pack of hounds was assembled. The youngsters were all there and so was the elder farmer, none of them had horses, but they would use motorbikes and quad bikes. There were also handlers who owned most of the dogs. I was observing under cover, off wind and making sure to know what tactics they would use.
“We will split them up in three teams! Each team of dogs will cover a separate area in search of your fox. You will all be assigned to one team of dogs and you will follow them closely and observe the prey which should be bayed. Do not waste time if the prey is not the target animal!”
Immediately the teams were formed up and then set out. The motorised hunters followed close, but not too close to allow the dogs to handle themselves. And I followed suit out of sight, but with great speed.

Each team of dogs consisted of about six to eight dogs accompanied by two or three youngsters who would follow at a distance. My position was way behind the outer right team of dogs, observing them and waiting for the right moment to counteract. Luckily none of the packs were on full speed constantly and would stop and search for tracks regularly.
For the first two hours their efforts were fruitless and the youngsters were getting frustrated and impatient. These hounds were costly and each idle moment pointlessly drained their wallet. Of course the fact that their bikes and quads alerted all wildlife for miles didn’t help and the handlers pointed this fact to them. And so reluctantly all engines were shut down while the hounds ran on in search of me.
Quietly I passed the hunters of the outer right group to follow the dogs unnoticed and at a safe distance. None of the hounds were familiar with the area, except for the two dogs the elder farmer brought in, but they were not allowed to lead by the other hounds. Occasionally though they would look behind them expecting a trap, but their indications were ignored by the other hounds.

As the humans were now off their backs the hounds now found their job much easier and soon they found prey they were used to. The outer right pack had cornered and bayed a young coyote who fearfully looked for a way out. The hounds would not allow any escapes and forcefully made the frightened animal stay in his spot. Far away engines were started up and I knew I had very little time to intervene, as I had no doubt the hunters would have the coyote killed before moving on.
In a move which almost seemed reckless I ran right into the pack, nipping at the lead dog before turning out of the circle. For a moment the dogs were confused, but I repeated my attack again and again until they were fed up with it and began chasing me instead. The whole pack came after me leaving the coyote alone, confused and scared but alive.
Using the terrain and bushes to my advantage I was able to stay well ahead of the pack without going at full speed. It took them great effort to run through the dense vegetation and across the slippery wet rocks of the narrow trails. Ahead of me were two more packs which I somehow had to provoke into pursuit of me.

The middle pack was chasing another fox. This one was not a family member, but nevertheless I had to get those hounds of his back. To do that I had to choose smoother terrain to allow my hounds to get closer, as close as the middle pack was to the fox.
Quickly I ran out behind the middle pack and closed in, aiming for the hind legs of the rear dogs. Startled and confused they stopped and turned around only to bump into the hounds chasing me. It slowed my hounds down and was quite effective getting the other fox to safety. Once I got through to the lead dogs of the middle pack, the lead dogs of my group took over. The other fox looked at me and I nodded quickly. When we split all the hounds came after me and the other ran free.
There was only one pack left to catch now, but they were no problem as they did not find any prey to chase. Once they noticed the other hounds chasing me they joined in and formed up at the rear. But the augmented size of the pack did not give the hounds an advantage as I returned to my tactic to run through difficult terrain. There were bottlenecks and mazes formed by vegetation and rocks through which the hounds could only follow when lining up. A couple of hounds lost track of the pack as a consequence, and had to wait for the hunters to pick them up.

For over an hour the chase lasted and I was beginning to feel the effect. This should not go on forever, but my run was not at random and had a very favourable target area, highway 95. Of course the farmer knew and so did the others now, but still they were confident they could stop me.
A quad came up in front and ran at me. However there was no gunfire, which would have been logic and convenient in stopping me, and left me puzzled. A simple evasive manoeuvre allowed me to pass the vehicle, which then nearly ran into the pack of hounds behind me. The handlers who observed the youngster’s action were not amused at all and called him in.
In front of me I could hear the sound of wheels running across the hard road. Trucks and cars were travelling at high speed running both north and south. There was no fence or barrier in between the woods and the highway, just the signs warning of crossing wildlife and deer. It was the perfect trap, but I did not like using it as I had no intention to kill the dogs.
For as long as I could I ran to the side of the highway, at a safe distance. My hope was that somewhere among the hunters there would be a sense of reason and someone would call the hounds back. But stubbornness and their blinding hate prevented them from taking the appropriate action.
Numerous warnings I sent out to the hounds, not to follow me when I ran onto the road. But trained as they were and fearful of the consequences of breaking off their chase they did not listen. And so, as I was running out of breath, I saw no other option but to take the chance of being run over myself and crossed into the highway.

Head on I ran into traffic. The road was not too busy at this moment which allowed me to use all three lanes as well as the space to the sides. First I crossed the road to run on the middle ground, then I turned back to the side and looked behind me to see the hounds still chasing me. At this point no vehicle had passed our space, but that would not last.
Onto the highway I ran once more, running to the middle ground, then turning back and running at the middle lane. The first cars passed us, nearly hitting the hounds and honking loud. More cars came on and I evaded as safely as I could. The trucks and cars were slowing down, honking and hitting their indicators.
Running through the front of the cluster I heard the first sound of crashing metal. Cars and trucks were hitting the breaks noticing the hounds covering the highway. Vehicles behind them could not see the cause of the stop and were too late to make a full stop. A wall of cars and shouting drivers blocked the chase and confused the hounds. The hunters and handlers came up to argue, and while they did I was able to find safety at the middle ground observing the unfolding disaster. There was a good chance their hunting activities were done for once and for all.

As far as I could see the highway chase and crashes which followed caused no casualties or injuries. The only thing it did was heating up tension and added to the hunters’ bill. They had had every opportunity to prevent this from happening. Their ‘war’ was turning ugly and costing them more then they had bargained for.
While I regained my breath within the cover at the middle ground I noticed a couple of police vehicles passing on the right to inspect the cause of the traffic jam and crash. And the hunters had a sorry expression on their face, seeing how they might face even criminal charges for allowing these hounds to cross the highway and failing to call them back.
However things were not over and while some of the hunters, as well as the elder farmer, submitted their story to the police and commuters some of them were making their way to the middle ground, where they had seen me disappear. So I had little time to waste and crawled right into traffic again, which now stood idle.
People were watching me and pointed at me while I crossed the lanes. I paid no attention to them and headed straight for the nearest police car. Its doors were open and I hopped in to find safety, but found the vehicle was not empty at all as a German shepherd police dog sat on the back seat waiting for the officers to return. Of course when I entered the dog became a bit agitated seeing and smelling a fox, but a wet nose and tongue touching his curious muzzle made sure he did not see me as an intruder or enemy.
The hunters were searching for me, but could not find me since they could not use hounds as they were being counted and taken off the road. Only one of them was carrying a rifle and pointed the muzzle at the space in between the vehicles, something which the other humans on the road did not appreciate. Unfortunately the hunters ignored the complaints and worries, pointing they were only doing their job.
When they passed the police car I stayed close to the police dog who only gazed at the hunters piercing inside. Assured that a fox would not mingle with a dog like that they moved on. I watched them, padding up to the dash board and wheel, as they moved back to the others.
For sure this was a disaster, but how could it get any worse? It did when they looked back and saw me inside the police car. Not thinking straight and infuriated by the events which took place today the shooter aimed and fired hitting and shattering the wind shield. The action spooked the police dog and had him escape and I followed him cutting him off and convincing him to take a seat on the grass.
Needless to say the officers were not amused at all and apprehended the shooter quickly, disarming him and cuffing his wrists. Now indeed the situation was worse than it was and the fear and terror they caused by their chase was being paid for. And no one got hurt, which was also an important achievement as far as I was concerned.

For a short time, as noon passed into afternoon, I was amused and relaxed sitting on the grass next to the police dog. Some people were watching us and took pictures, but we ignored them. Meanwhile the humans were on the move. The hounds were taken back into the woods on leash and under close escort while disabled vehicles were brought to the side.
A couple of hunters were apprehended and seated at the back of police vehicles, and all guns had been confiscated as the hunters insisted on using them right there on me endangering both the police dog and other humans. The hunters were dragging their asses home it seemed, starting up their vehicles and disappearing into the woods. Then, as the police let traffic pass through one of the officers approached us and called back the dog. A slight nod and a polite tail wave ended my stay at the highway, before I disappeared into the woods again.


The mood was ill at the farm house. Another attempt to hunt was foiled and turned into a catastrophe. It was a defeat which was predicted and announced, and which could have been avoided had the youths and farmer used their heads instead of their hatred.
Voices were raised, while beer was used to try and ease the temper, but it only fuelled the tension. Blame was passed and shifted from the handlers, to the farmer, the youngsters and those now into custody. Something had to be done, but none had any ideas and the handlers were about to pen up their hounds and head home.
Notably the elder farmer was pretty much fed up with the whole thing seeing that once again I had drawn him a new one. Until this year his area was a fun hunting ground but now something was fighting back and actually hit the weak spots. The situation was escalating quickly as drastic measures were now being proposed. The youths were now considering raiding an army depot, since buying new arms at this stage had become too costly, and using every means necessary to eliminate me. Others proposed a total demolition of the woods. So ridiculous, dangerous and stupid were the proposed ideas that the farmer became extremely pissed and threatened to ban some of the youngsters off his property.
“I will look him up again, tonight! If I catch any of you doing anything stupid I will see to it that you soon join your buddies at the county jail!”
As the man left, the young hunters had a bad feeling, but their eager to kill me soon overcame their common sense and obedience.

“Come out fox! Get out here, you bastard!”
But all the man saw of me was my text in the soil.
“You were warned! You failed! Sometimes assholes do get what’s coming to them!”
His face turned red, then purple in anger.
“Do you know what they are planning now? They will use dynamite and gasoline soon to smoke you out! They will turn these woods inside out before the winter and I won’t be able to stop them.”
It was sad to hear, the stupidity of humans and their eager to destroy. This war was escalating and if the situation did not improve I feared the moment I would have to kill to stop them. And then shit would really hit the fan. A bloody war indeed! And I was getting fed up with it as much as the man in front of me was. I came out and revealed myself, carrying the metal rod to talk.
“Call the police on them and stop them right now before they do such things!”
But the man shook his head.
“They did not do anything yet. And I don’t believe they will do it while I’m watching. I did warn them not to. But if you don’t come now, there will soon be nothing left of these woods.”
“Dynamite and gasoline are sensitive to fire. You know I am capable of preventing this! I will not let them do this! Call off the war!”
Desperately the man found his efforts as fruitless as last time. A poor negotiator since all he offered was death and destruction any way it turned. There was no way I would give in to that. And so I told him how I felt.
“If all you can offer is death and destruction, hunting and killing, you will not come to terms with me! Call off the war! Stop picking on predators! Stop trapping and killing my friends!”
The man looked at my demands and shook his head, knowing he did not have the courage to defend my demands. At last he knew he did not have a leg to stand on, nothing to offer or to compensate, nothing but threats, assertions and intimidation which did not at all work. And then the barking began far in the distance.


As the handlers were about to pack up and leave the youths had taken a bold move and overwhelmed the handlers, threatening them with pitch forks and tying them up, then unleashing the dogs again to track the farmer and me. It was late, nearly dusk, and at night on the highway the dogs would not stand a chance of surviving. And the man in front of me knew that was on my mind, since the method was the only one available to ensure my survival with the greatest impact possible on them. His eyes filled with tears as he now finally understood the pain this ‘war’ caused.
“Please don’t kill my dogs, Tervicz. I will do what I can to...”
But the hounds were almost there and I had no time to listen. Off I went into the creeping darkness, speeding up to evade and head straight for the highway again. Behind me I heard the man shout and cry as the hounds passed him. In his frustration he nearly dragged one of the hunters off his bike, but the young man simply evaded and continued.
I saved no effort to escape, using every trick at the expense of the hounds. There were almost two dozen of them on my tail while in front of me the hunters tried to use their bikes and quads to cut me off. However the terrain was not at all suited for such madness and the only thing they achieved to do was slip through the mud.
Barking and shouts filled the woods as the chase continued. Nothing else was on my mind but to reach the highway as quickly as possible. Tunnel vision formed as I ran through the narrow trails as I had done earlier. Madness! Hounds would get killed if these hunters did not come to grips.

Out far in the woods the elder farmer shouted and cried. He was trying to get back to the farm so he could mount a vehicle and join the pursuit. But soon he found his way blocked by a full pack of coyotes, all of which had some bad memory or experience with the farmer and his hunters. The tables were now turned. The coyotes surrounded him and began to steer him toward the farm, never touching him, but persistent nevertheless.
Anticipating my move the hunters took up position along the last ridge bordering the highway. They were spread out thin as they did not know where exactly I would cross the ridge. And with the approaching darkness it only now occurred to them the mistake they had made. Even if I would be killed the cost of damages could very well ruin them, put them behind bars and put them out of legal hunting for a very long time. But it was too late.
My choice of crossing the ridge fell on a large drain which cut through it, leading to an edge which overviewed the road. The drain was tight, but I was able to move through comfortably. For the hounds it was a different story as they only could go through one-by-one and in a slightly crouched posture. And that cost them valuable time. When the first dog reached the other side I was standing at some distance above the drain. The hounds were nervous remembering well what happened the first time they reached the highway. Torn between the command to track me and the prohibition of their handlers to cross the road again they began to descend and approach the traffic, which was much busier now than around noon.
As much as I disliked the hunters and wanted to inflict damage, somehow I could not bring myself to make the kill blow on those hounds, which would only have taken an attack from the rear, and provoking the chase. Meanwhile the hunters were still at the other side of the ridge unaware the whole hunt had gone through their line. There was no chance of the hunters calling them back even if they had the competence.

A loud fox shout downhill drew the attention of the lead dogs. Immediately they turned around and began to chase me, uphill and away from the road. They were tired and so was I. But nevertheless we pushed on and continued the pointless chase which now had no audience. And that of course was a chance for me.
Since the highway was out as an option, I still had one possibility to not only stop the chase but also undermine future chases with these dogs. Near the top of the ridge there was an old shed, which was once part of the road’s construction effort. The building pretty much had decayed, but there was still enough body to provide some cover and a foundation to prevent digging efforts.
When I reached the shed I had a couple of moments to take my position behind the shed and have a breather. And then I had to wait for the hounds to come. The waiting seemed to last many minutes and I could hear no engines approaching. For now it was just me and the dogs, which gave me the advantage as I am not just any fox.
So tired were the dogs that when they reached my position most just dropped to the ground, exhausted, thirsty and hungry and not at all in the mood for any continued chase. Only the lead dog and a couple of lieutenants still had the energy to press on and approach me, but they did not meet the frightened, panicked and cowering fox they usually received.
A couple of minutes allowed me to deploy some reserves, then face up to the hounds. They were silent and so was I, uneasy to calculate their next move. My pose was a calm one, an easy look, watching the lead dog come up to me. My back was up against one of the last shed walls.
I sat up as the dog closed in, then tried to find some balance on my hind legs. When the dog was right up against me one of my paws gently landed on the top of his muzzle, adding to his confusion. This was not the type of fox he had been trained for. Stunned, he let me close in my muzzle and lick his muzzle.
Minutes passed as I leaned on the dog, then I dismounted and sat up again. He came up close again and sniffed me out. When he was close and seemed getting excited I stuck a paw right into his may probing if what he was supposed to do also was what he wanted to do. And he did not want to bite me, moved off my paw, licked it and gave me assurance he did not intend to kill me. And since he was the lead dog no other dog would do so. The hounds all settled down, the leader sat down right next to me. For a moment there was peace within these woods.

Engines were running again, and moving closer. The bikes and quads carried youths, but also the handlers the farmer had released when he returned. Obviously there were to be some consequences for their acts, but not until the dogs were found.
They hardly realised how lucky they were I had not taken the chase on the highway. But neither the hunters or the handlers were amused to find the hounds and me on friendly terms, no sign of a hostile bay action. Months and sometimes years of training had might have been undone due to my unnatural behaviour. And the hunters were all too eager to dispose of me, a small consolation prize since that was all that was left for them.
Having had their guns confiscated they could only use rods and sticks to attack me. But the shed provided a lot of wooden debris which I could use as shield. A wooden board I took hold of and protected my head, neck and upper body when the first hunter struck the first blow. I heard him curse and try to hit my hips, but the board moved just in time to absorb that blow.
“Someone get a hold of that fox!”
“I don’t want to lose my finger, bud! Why don’t you do it?”
Ten seconds of bickering was enough time to pull up close to a slight depression up against the shed wall. There I was able to protect my rear better. It also allowed me to lodge the wooden board in between the ground and shed. A hit from a baseball bat hit above me and shattered part of the wall. The wood falling down further reinforced my position.
“That bastard is digging in!”

If insanity had a face, it would be that of a hunter who hates foxes, but could not kill the fox no matter what he tried. Even the handlers who were seasoned fox killers were dazzled at the ferocity the young hunters. They bashed away at the blockade but were unable to break my protection. The wood was wet and stubborn, which was why it lasted for so long.
“I’ll burn him! Get my bike! I’ll need the gasoline.”
My hackles raised and I growled. The move now sparked the dog handlers to raise their phones and call for help, since the hunters were threatening them as well now with their clubs and bats.
There was no way I could stay there. I took a piece of wood, as big as I could carry, and ran out from the shed as hard as I could while the hunters tried to get fuel from the motorbikes. When they saw me, one lashed out and tried to hit me. Just in time the plank was in place to protect my head and neck, but I still got hit.
Now I was in the open, at their mercy and they knew no mercy. My vital parts had some protection, but my legs and rear were hit. I yelped and screamed in pain and all the humans, hunters, dog handlers and the farmer just watched either in rage or stunned.
A short pause followed as the lead hunter broke his rod and asked for another one. Next to me I saw the hounds, the lead hound close and at his handler’s foot looking at me, confused but realising what was being done was not right at all. He knew it was wrong what the men were doing, but could not know how to react to it. Then I called for help.
The sound of a pup in distress sparked a maternal response from the hounds. The lead hound sought me out as the man took hold of another club to hit me. Then he attacked and bit the man, knocked him off his feet and drew blood on the man’s arm. Then the other hunters tried to join in and help the lead hunter, but the pack of hounds got up and followed their leader.

“Enough!”
Suddenly the conflict ceased to be as the farmer raised his voice and approached the youths. He took the bats and rods and sticks and kept them. The handlers too began to join in and kept the hunters at bay while the farmer approached me. I covered my head as he did with my paws, expecting him to give me the final blow.
“It’s alright, fox! I’m not going to hurt you. I will help you!”
I looked up and saw the farmer crouch close to me, tossing away the weapons. He touched me and looked at my wounds.
“I’m sorry about this. You were right, this war has to end.”
What I did not know then was that the coyotes who surrounded him and lead him to the farm, helped to unleash the dog handlers and guide them all to the ridge where the action was taking place. They did not hurt him or the handlers even though they had every reason to do so.
For the first time since I had come across him I actually observed pity in his eyes. And he tried to see my wounds.
“I’m sorry Tervicz. I’m sorry about what I did to you. Killing your mother, hurting your kind. It was part of our way of life, but now I will make it up to you. I will tend your wounds, Tervicz, get you back to health.”
Uneasy he words seem, but genuine. The man looked upon the young hunters and indeed felt ashamed.
“The war is over, at least on my land.”


Time passed and indeed I found the farmer to be genuine and true to his word. My wounds were treated and cared for and as some left permanent marks I was welcome to stick around the farm, to join the company of his dogs. However I did keep to the wild as well, to look after the others as good as I could.
Meanwhile the farmer also bought the land surrounding his farm, the woods and free areas, and kept his word turning the area in a no-hunting zone. And so the war was won. The war on predators was won by a small fox and a lot of his friends.




The end