auntiemeesh | A semi-original fiction

My family has decided to make a book of stories and pictures for our father, for Christmas this year. Most years, my dad writes and illustrates a Christmas story that he sends out to everyone instead of a card. This year he was not feeling very creative and asked us to make stories, instead.

I thought I would share my story with all of you here, as well as with my family.

My dad was always a storyteller when we were kids and my favorite stories were the Fox Stories. These stories were based on a family of foxes who lived in a den under a big rock in the woods behind our farm. These were some pretty amazing foxes, I must tell you. They were millionaires, for one thing, somehow earning all this money while working at McDonalds and such. They kept their money in trailers in back of their dens and drove around town in Rolls Royces.

Well, I took the base of these stories - the family of foxes living under a rock in the woods, and reinvented their story a bit. It's a little odd, as I haven't ever really attempted to write a Fox Story before, but this is what I came up with.

The Foxes’ Christmas

Once upon a time, in a mythical place called Ohio, there lived a small family of foxes. Three young fox cubs (Charlie, Elmer and Lucy) lived with their mother in a snug and cozy den under a large rock appropriately named Big Rock by the humans who also lived in the area.

Now, these foxes were not your ordinary, everyday foxes. No, they were special. Unusual, you might say. One of the more unusual things about this particular family of foxes was that they celebrated Christmas. Not exactly in the same way you and I celebrate Christmas, but still, it was a very important time for them and they began preparing weeks in advance.

“Charlie,” said Mother Fox, one day early in December, “we need to spruce up the den before Christmas. Just look at these old, mangy feathers we have.”

Indeed, the feathers that covered the floor of the den, giving it it’s warm and cozy feel, were looking rather sad and worn.

“I see what you mean, Mama,” Charlie answered thoughtfully. “Do you want me to make a raid on Farmer Green’s henhouse?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to,” Mother answered reluctantly. “Take Elmer with you. It’s time he learned how to catch chickens. But be careful, please, and don’t get caught.”

Now, these may be unusual foxes, but foxes they still were, and I’m sorry to say they had a mighty fine liking for chicken. They were well acquainted with the dangers of the farmyard, however, and stayed away from it when they could. But this was a special occasion and risks must be taken.

So late that night Charlie and Elmer headed off to gather the required chickens. Charlie, being the elder and more experienced chicken hunter, was in charge.

“Now, listen carefully, Elmer,” Charlie instructed as they followed an iced over streambed through the woods between their den and the farm. “The chickens should all be asleep, but you have to be alert. Sometimes a hen is broody and stays awake during the night. Also, every now and again, one of the roosters is out taking some air. Be as quiet as you possibly can be. I know you’ve been practising. I saw you sneak up on Mama yesterday -- she never knew you were coming.

Charlie continued the instructions as they cautiously crossed the road that marked the border of Farmer Green’s property. Once in the brush on the other side, it was a short jog to the farm’s outbuildings. The two foxes crouched in the dry grass outside the fence and stared in at the henhouse.

Very quietly, Charlie and Elmer began to dig at the dirt under the fence, until they had dug a hole large enough for them to carefully wriggle through. Now was when things began to get dangerous. If there was any trouble, the only way out was through that hole, which was only large enough for one fox at a time. And Farmer Green was reputed to be a good shot with his trusty old Blunderbuss.

Charlie led the way to the henhouse, taking his time and placing his paws very carefully so as not to make any noise. Elmer followed close behind, doing his best to imitate his big brother. He did a respectable job of it, too, although Charlie winced once when Elmer’s tail brushed against a rake leaning against the side of the henhouse. Both foxes paused, but the rake didn’t move and with a silent sigh of thanks, they moved on. Bodies low to the ground, they slunk up the ramp to the small opening in the building. Charlie turned back and gave Elmer a meaningful look before moving oh-so-slowly into the henhouse. Once inside, the foxes acted quickly, before their scent could disturb the hens and cause a ruckus. Each fox lunged and caught a plump, juicy chicken by the neck, shaking it vigorously to still it’s fight, before turning to leave.

Charlie had done this sort of thing before and knew that there would be quite a bit of pandemonium in the henhouse once they pounced, but it was all new to Elmer, and rather frightening. He nearly dropped the chicken he’d caught as the other hens began flapping about and squawking in fear and anger. He became a bit disoriented and it took him a long moment to find the small exit. Once through the hole and down the ramp, however, he raced unerringly back to the fence and the escape hole he and Charlie had dug earlier.

Charlie had already pushed his chicken through and was worming his way out when Elmer arrived. Just then the lights went on in the farmhouse and loud voices could be heard demanding to know what the racket was. As Elmer pushed his chicken through the hole under the fence and prepared to follow, the door to the farmhouse opened and light spilled out, along with one very angry farmer. Blunderbuss in hand, he looked around the farmyard, trying to spot the source of the disturbance.

“Hurry!” Charlie hissed as Elmer wriggled and wormed his way under the fence. Once on the other side, they both picked up their chickens and ran. They didn’t slow down until they had crossed the road and made it to the safety of the woods. Even then they did not stop, but simply slowed their frantic, headlong pace to that of a reasonable walk.

The chicken was heavy in Elmer’s mouth and made walking awkward, now that the panic was over. It also prevented him from talking to Charlie as they went. Although he was tired, he was beginning to understand the thrill of chicken-stealing. It had been wild and frightening and powerful, all at the same time.

Once back at the den, with the chickens deposited at the feet of the their mother, Elmer pranced around, replaying the scene for Lucy and his mother, excitedly telling them both about everything that had happened. He was quick to realize that chicken-stealing was exhausting work, however, and as soon as he had calmed down a bit, he found himself nodding off. At a word from Mother Fox, he crawled into a corner of the den and was soon fast asleep.

“He did well, Mama,” Charlie reported a short while later, while Mother Fox and Lucy plucked the chickens and spread the feathers about the den, thickening the areas that had become too thin for comfort. “He kept his head and didn’t get too disoriented when the old biddies began flapping about, and he didn’t panic when Farmer Green came after us. He’ll make a fine chicken-hunter.”

Mother Fox smiled, relieved that her cubs had come back to her safely, and pleased with the chickens they had brought with them. “Thank you, dear. You must be nearly as tired as Elmer. Why don’t you go curl up with him and get some sleep?”

Charlie wanted to argue but a yawn caught him, making it impossible to speak. Laughing at himself, he went over to Elmer, curled up next to him and was soon fast asleep.

Over the next few weeks, Mother Fox went to some trouble to make their den look as nice as possible. They didn’t decorate in quite the same way that we do, of course. There were no garlands or Christmas trees, no mistletoe or stockings to be hung. But the new feathers were cleaned and made soft and fluffy, and a variety of beautiful treasures from outside were brought in.

Charlie knew of a bush that carried bright red berries long into the winter. After carefully chewing off several branches, making sure he didn’t eat any of the berries, he carried them inside and they were stuck in a narrow but deep crack along one face of the rock they lived under.

While out playing in the first snow of the season, Lucy found some pine branches lying on the ground, half buried in new-fallen snow. They were lying next to a fresh stump and Lucy knew one of the humans had been here with a saw, cutting the tree down for some indefinable human purpose, leaving just these few small branches behind. Gathering them up, she carried them back to the den, placing them inside the entryway. They smelled lovely and fresh, and would make the entire den smell sweet for several weeks to come.

Elmer did his bit, as well, making a snow fox to stand outside their den, guarding their home from all invaders. It was the first year that this responsibility was given to him and he took it very seriously, spending an entire day working hard to get all the details just right.

And then, suddenly, it was Christmas Eve, and all the hard work was done. It was time to put work away and relax. Now, as I told you, the Foxes didn’t celebrate Christmas in the same way that you and I do. There was no Santa Claus and there were no presents. It wasn’t a day for a big fancy meal, although thanks to another raid on Farmer Green’s chicken coop, there was a plentiful amount of food.

Well then, you might wonder, what did they do on Christmas? What made it so special for them? And the answer to that question is such a simple thing that it seems almost nothing at all. For them, Christmas was all about love and family and togetherness. Each year Aunt Abigail and cousin Clyde, who lived far away on the other side of the woods, came to stay with them for two weeks. This year was no different, and they arrived in the late afternoon on Christmas Eve. The two families stayed up late into the night talking and laughing and singing, and the next day, Christmas Day, they went for a long hike through the snow covered fields and woods. That evening they ate the chickens Charlie and Elmer had caught and once again stayed up late, renewing the bonds of love they shared between them. So it went for the two weeks of the visit, each day going out and about, visiting favourite haunts, finding new ones and sharing little adventures, and each evening spent telling tales, singing songs, and building new memories for the years to come.

At the end of the visit, as always, Mother Fox promised to that her family would spend Midsummer at Aunt Abigail’s den. Then there was much crying and kissing and promises of visits to come as Aunt Abigail and cousin Clyde loped off into the darkening woods, while the snow swirled down and the wind whistled through the trees. Christmas was over and the family was once again scattered.

“Come, children,” Mother Fox said, a bit sadly as she turned back to the den, “it’s cold out here. Let’s go back in where it’s warm.”

Charlie looked at his brother and sister with a twinkle in his eye. It was the same every year. Mama was always sad at the end of the visit and needed cheering up, and Charlie knew just what to do. Prancing lightly through the snow, he found a drift that was just right and swished his tail through it, sending snow flying through the air, to land on Mama’s back and ears.

Twitching, she turned around. Giving her eldest cub an appraising look, she suddenly grinned and returned fire, swishing her tail through a deep snow drift, sending snow flying into Charlie’s face. Soon all four foxes were engaged in a lively snow-swishing battle. By the time they trouped into the den, fur soaking wet and tails drooping in exhaustion, Mama’s eyes were twinkling again. The foxes collapsed in an ungainly heap in the midst of their soft, fluffy feathers and fell asleep in the cozy warmth of the den, ready for a long winter of cold and snow, hard work and play.