150 A GAMEKEEPER'S NOTE-BOOK 



prowling fox, the pause of a moment to sniff and sniff 

 again the scent that taints the air, the swift thrust 

 of long jaws between bramble, brier, and bracken, 

 the grab of gleaming teeth, the stifled cry of the dying 

 bird, the floating of brown feathers on the wind of 

 night, and the joy of the cubs at the sight of the 

 dead bird and the scent of her welling blood. And 

 then the carnival of feasting at the mouth of the 

 earth, by the old tree of the cubs' playground, while 

 the white owl screeches his protest as he passes over- 

 head, and the mother fox, sitting on her haunches, 

 licks her chops and watches. The work of a vixen 

 among sitting birds differs from that of the dog fox. 

 While she always carries her booty to her cubs, he 

 kills in wanton waste, leaving the birds' bodies, 

 often headless, near their nests. Some or all of the 

 eggs may be eaten, or they may be left untouched, 

 still as neatly arranged in the nest as the mother bird 

 left them when she stole off to feed and take a bath 

 in dust. The keeper may recognise the excuse of 

 the mother fox's necessity, but for the wanton 

 slaughter by her idle mate he sees no reason, and 

 finds no forgiveness. 



Only those who have seen the remains of game 

 scattered round the earth of a litter of cubs the 

 cubs of an experienced mother can realise what it 

 costs in game to entertain foxes. Where rabbits are 

 plentiful, pheasants and partridges suffer less from 

 foxes than where rabbits are scarce, and the keeper 

 may help a vixen to cater for her cubs by shooting 



