Frank the Fox

Frank was a fox. Today he was looking for a new place to make his den. With swift, deliberate movements he bounded from rock to branch. Keeping his eyes open to movement, ears alert to strange sounds. In his mouth he had a rock. It was a shiny rock that sparked when in sunlight. It was to be put in the new den, to let others know that he was special.

He had found it when he was a pup. It was on the side of a river. His mother had told him it was foolish; foxes had no possessions. She told him he could keep the rock if he left the den. So he did. Out on his own, skittering around being free. The first few nights out alone were hard. But Frank was a smart fox.

He found an outcropping of rocks near the lake. One of the nooks would make a perfect area. He used his paws to dig in slightly. Then pounced around outside at the grass. Biting at tufts of grass, bringing it into the new den for bedding. At the back of the new den Frank put his rock, his possession.

If Frank was ever to bring a girl fox back to his den, she would surely like it. On this night though he would sleep alone. He rarely dreamed of anything other than chasing a big wolf away from a kill. He would awake proud of this figmental success. Today he would look around at the new area. Find places to hunt.

After exploring the inward forest for most of the day he turned back to the lake. A frog sat on the shore. A nice meal, thought Frank. Crouching as low as he could get, he slowly and methodically inched closer and closer. After agonizing moments of movement, he was seconds away from pouncing. His muscles ached from being tensed for so long. Frank urged for the taste of this frog. For the caloric energy it would give him. For surviving another day.

A breath away from pouncing, a fish surfaced. “HEY, hey, what are you doing?” the fish asked. Frank was distracted for a moment. The frog leapt away. Missed opportunity. Upset, he shouted at the fish, “I was hunting, but you have ruined that.” The fish looked with one eye for a while. “Do you wish to have the knowledge of the fish?”

Frank knew two things. Fish only had memories that lasted ten minutes tops, and fish knew nothing. Incensed, he said with false sincerity, “What could the wise fish teach me?” bowing slightly as he spoke. “How to swim as a fish does,” the fish said plainly.

The conversation went on. Frank kept asking questions and the fish gave replies. According to the fish, the reason foxes couldn’t swim like the fish was because they foolishly kept their mouths closed while underwater. Also he needed to wag his butt back and forth to move around. To Frank everything the fish said made sense.

The next day they talked more. Frank ignored his hunger. He wanted to be the first fox to learn this new ability. The fish told him to come out to the middle of the lake to try swimming like a fish. He padded out into the water. Kicked hard and fast to stay above the water and followed the fish.

Once out to the middle the fish said, “Just do everything I taught you.” Still looking at him with that one unblinking eye. His legs were tired from treading water. It was time to become the first fox to swim like a fish. He took his last kick. Pushed all the air out of his lungs. Sank down. Waited. Opened his mouth, took in huge gulps of water while wagging his butt and tail for movement.

The sharp pangs of fear kicked in. Nothing felt right. Frank kept trying to breathe in. Tried kicking his paws. He was so tired. Why wasn’t this working? Frank’s last thought was “The fish. He told me it would work.”