Free The Fox Cub Bold by Colin Dann Page A

confident-looking fox that seemed to know exactly what it was about. Bold’s muscles tautened as he watched. The animal stepped lightly across the grass with a fluid grace that was a perfect illustration of health and vitality. It made straight for a stone bird-table, the flat top of which was nearly two metres from the ground. With the most enviable agility the fox leapt in one flowing movement up to the top. There it stood, fearlessly surveying its surroundings, before snatching up the remnants of the birds’ leavings. Bold was entranced. He knew it to be a female, and he was as full of admiration for her strength as for her grace and elegance. He thought of his own poor frame; his hobbling walk; his inability to jump, and he shrank back timidly to avoid being detected.
    As luck would have it, after making a brief circuit of the garden, the vixen came straight towards Bold. Instinctively he flattened himself against the ground. She leapt the fence effortlessly and landed about three metres from him. Some slight involuntary movement on Bold’s part betrayed his presence. She turned and looked at him calmly. No trace of surprise or curiosity was shown by her. For a few moments they stared into each others’ eyes, then she swung round and trotted coolly away as if he had been of no more interest than a piece of wood.
    Bold felt humiliated by her disregard. Although there was no reason for her to pay him any attention, her nonchalance only made him all the more conscious of his poor appearance. He felt that her reaction might have been quite different had she seen him as he had once been in those first glorious weeks after he had left the Nature Reserve. Now he was indeed quite another animal. His physical deficiencies assumed a new proportion in his mind and his confidence fell to a low ebb. What a cringing, struggling scrap of a creature he had become! He crawled away from the fence, his brush hanging lifelessly between his legs. Why continue the fight? He would be better off out of it all.
    But life had to go on and Bold had to go on. He pulled a meaty-looking bone from the next container he upset and began his slow, sad, homeward journey. At least Robber would have no cause for complaint this time.
    The crow was delighted with Bold’s offering and spent a long time pulling and pecking at the fragments of meat that still clung around the bone. Bold slept deeply, utterly dispirited and tired out by his feelings. Robber came back during the day and dropped a share of his kill for the fox to enjoy, for he did not live entirely off carrion. But Bold made no attempt to fetch it. Flying overhead later Robber noticed the untasted morsel and down he came to reclaim it.
    ‘Shame to waste it if it’s not to your taste,’ he remarked.
    ‘Have it by all means,’ said Bold disinterestedly.
    Something in his tone made the bird pause. ‘Is there anything wrong?’ he inquired.
    ‘Of course – everything’s wrong,’ Bold growled bitterly.
    ‘Everything?’
    ‘Everything with me .’
    ‘Aha!’ said Robber. ‘So that’s it. Feeling sorry for yourself. Doesn’t do any good, you know.’
    Bold held his tongue.
    ‘You’re still alive, Bold, my friend,’ the bird went on. ‘You would have died out there if you hadn’t followed my advice.’
    ‘Might have been the best thing,’ Bold muttered. ‘After all, what am I doing? Just prolonging the agony!’
    ‘Your leg may not always be so bad,’ said Robber encouragingly.
    ‘Yes, it will,’ said Bold. ‘I shall never run or jump again as I used to do. If anything, it’s worse than before.’
    ‘You’re not very easy to comfort,’ said Robber shortly. ‘I don’t know why I’m bothering.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ said Bold. ‘I ought to be grateful for a comrade, I know. But I think I’m beginning to miss my own kind.’
    ‘That’s easily solved,’ Robber told him. ‘There are plenty more foxes around here.’
    ‘I know, I saw one,’ said Bold