Fergie

No, not that Fergie. In fact, we’re not even sure if our Fergie is a male or female. I came up with the name of Fergie for alliteration purposes. Fergie the Fox has a nice ring to it—whether short for Ferguson or simply Fergie! I’m beginning to think, because of size, this incredible specimen is a male, so for simplicity’s sake, I’ll refer to him as such.

Every now and then, this wondrous creature crosses the front of the yard along the tree line, and I always stop to watch. Before Fergie appeared, my only experience with foxes came from Nat Geo shows featuring frisky Arctic foxes scampering through snow. I had no concept of how large a red fox can grow. I also didn’t have a concept of how stealthily they can move. I’ve found myself fascinated by the slow, smooth movements as he makes his way from the driveway down to the northwest corner of the yard.

Sometimes, Fergie will stop about two-thirds of the way across the yard, look up at us sitting on the front porch, and then continue. Occasionally, however, we are treated to the magnificent sight of much more than a quick turn of the head. Fergie will, with slow, languid movements, settle into a very regal sitting position—head held high, tail flicking gently—like he’s posing for a portrait. When sunlight hits his copper fur just right, he glows as if surrounded by his own aura. He’s a breathtaking presence on the ridge.