Morals 
in 
Nature 
By 
WILLIAM EVERETT CRAM 
E sometimes hear it said that 
WX Nature is unmoral rather than 
immoral. As applied to the 
lower forms of life this is undoubtedly 
true, but among the birds and the wild 
animals of the forest there are species 
whose standard of conduct is in many 
respects as high as that found among 
the most civilized groups of the human 
race. All domestic birds and animals 
are immoral; many of their species in 
a state of nature, are either promiscu- 
ous and temporary in their mating 
habits, or polygamous, while others, the 
cats, doves, ducks and geese, for ex- 
ample, apparently mate for life. 
Unquestionably we should distinguish 
between morality, which is simply 
following the true instinct of their 
species, and that which is due to the 
exercise of self control in an attempt to 
overcome racial habits and customs, but 
I think that the former may as rightly 
claim the title as the latter. For, as 
Darwin says, 
performed by us, will at last be done 
without deliberation or hesitation, and 
can hardly be distinguished from an 
instinct; yet surely no one will pretend 
that an action thus done ceases to be 
moral. On the contrary, we feel that an 
act cannot be considered as perfect, or 
as performed in the most noble manner, 
unless it be done impulsively, without 
deliberation or effort, in the same man- 
ner as by a man in whom the requisite 
qualities are inate.” 
Of late years a more or less success- 
ful attempt has been made to bring 
foxes under domestication, for the 
sake of breeding them for their skins, 
and it will be interesting to learn how 
this affects their conduct to one an- 
other. For the last forty summers I 
have watched the wild foxes that have 
their dens on the hill in my pasture, and 
in the winter have followed and de- 
ciphered fox trails in the snow, and my 
“An action repeatedly . 

Young hawks 
observations have convinced me that 
they pair for life and that the male does 
his share in bringing up the family. 
Each fox family, as a rule, has more 
than one den, at distances varying from 
two to three hundred yards, to a quar- 
‘ter of a mile apart, and the young 
foxds are moved from one to another 
at intervals during the summer. These 
dens are made by enlarging woodchuck 
burrows, and I have seen the male do 
his share of this work. 
When I approach their dens, it is 
very often the father of the family, who 
is standing guard—while the cubs 
frolic about the doorway, and the 
mother who is off hunting. 
Taking care of the young foxes is no 
easy task, for they are fearless and in- 
quisitive. One Sunday morning a few 
years ago I went pickerel fishing, and 
_my way led me by the fox dens on the 
hillside. A fox cub sat watching my ap- 
proach with eager interest, and when 
I stopped to watch him, he slipped 
around behind the ground junipers, and 
coming up behind me, sat down on his 
haunches and looked up at. the long 
bamboo rod over my shoulders, as if 
trying to study out its meaning. Evi- 
dently the little chaps wander off from 
time to time to get lost like other chil- 
dren. ; 
WAS sitting in the shade of the 
pines on a summer day, when a 
young fox, hardly bigger than a 
gray squirrel, came wandering alone 
through the woods. He acted for all 
the world as if lost and worried; his 
littleness and loneliness being all the 
more apparent because of the century 
old pines that towered above him. 
Coming to a prostrate log he climbed 
upon it and curled up for a nap; slept 
for about a minute, got up and 
stretched, walked for a few yards along 
the tree trunk, and curled up again. 
Animal Behavior 
Based on 
Field 
Observation 
I think he had at least five naps in- 
side of twenty minutes, the last on the 
end of the log farthest from me down 
the slope. 
HEN sitting up and yawning, he 
caught sight of something half 
buried beneath the pine needles which 
seemed to excite him greatly. 
He leaned over with outstretched 
neck, then drew back suddenly to take 
refuge behind a knot, looking out from 
behind it with one eye. At last he 
gathered courage to pounce down and 
drag forth the cause of all this excite- 
ment, only a broken stick a few inches 
long—as I ascertained after he had 
gone away—but for several minutes he 
fought with it and tossed it about, then 
becoming tired of it, started off in the 
direction from whence he came. 1 
I wish that I could add an account 
of his rejoining his family, but linger- 
ing about for an hour or more, I saw 
no sign of any other fox, nor heard the 
well known tell-tale cry of jay or crow 
or any other woodland note, give warn- 
ing of their presence in the vicinity, 
and to the best of my knowledge, there 
was at that time no fox den within a 
quarter of a mile. This custom of tak- 
ing such very protracted naps, is char- 
acteristic of foxes of all ages. 
They usually sleep in the open air, 
and I have had plenty of opportunities 
for watching them at such times, and 
have never seen one sleep for more than 
two minutes, generally half a dozen 
naps in quick succession, and then off to 
their hunting. Talk about “cat naps” 
fox naps would be much more appropri- 
ate. 
Last summer I sawa two-thirds grown 
fox watching a mouse hole beneath a 
stump in a clearing. Evidently decid- 
ing that the mouse was not coming out 
just then, he walked over to another 
stump and curled up for a nap; after 
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