Category: WildLife

DeHavilland

Lessons in Parenting from The Wild

Velda‘s mate, Dehavilland, has been out and about lately.

They were out together, yipping quietly to let each other know where they were, also to let their kits – we haven’t seen them yet – know where their parents are and even though not in their presence, still to listen and obey.

Ah, The Wild…

Things are so different in The Wild.

Rarely…check that. I’ve never seen human parents as genuinely concerned for their children’s development as parents of The Wild.

To say it’s a completely different mindset is to say water isn’t fire. Well, duh!

Parental care in The Wild doesn’t care about property rites, transmission of wealth, so on and so forth. No human concerns here. All there is is “I’ll do the best I can preparing you for your life without me, because my time is few and you will live after I’m gone. I will prepare you so you can share this message with your children. If I’ve parented well and you’ve learned well, you’ll have children and share this message with them.”

Velda the Fox

Patience in all things. Especially when things are hesitant.

We have friends.

They are gracious and loving, never overstaying their welcome.

Some are unsure of their welcome, though.

We do what we can to let them know our joy at their presence, our happiness at their arrival.

But their history with others…flavors their relationship with us.

We don’t blame them. If enough Italians hurt you, you become wary of Italians. If enough Londoners hurt you, you become wary of Londoners. Doesn’t really matter if it’s Chinese, Germans, Jews, Muslims, Christians, Aboriginals, doctors, lawyers, teachers, butchers, bakers, candlestick makers, …

So The Foxen are wary of us.

We give them time.

A chance to learn our voices, our scents, our ways.

We endeavor to be to them as we wish them to be to us; giving, sharing, caring, loving.

Slowly, they learn that we, at least, are not like others who look like us.

Wish all things could be that way.

What a happy family

One by one they reveal themselves to us

As mentioned previously Hecate and her kits come out during daylight now. One aspect of this is that I get to spend more time with them.

Learning their names, for example.

Although this year’s kits seem much more interested in food than saying hello.

Kits these days.

But one young fellow, Mason, has shared his name.

A few years back one of the neighborhood (human) children asked me how I knew the animals’ names.

“I asked you your name, didn’t I?”

Yes.

“Well, shouldn’t I show them the same respect?”

But they can’t tell you.

“Of course they can. You just have to be willing to listen.”

 

Matron Aunt Gracie

It’s good to have backup

Hecate and her kits come out during daylight now. Fewer predators and a good supply of food, I’d guess.

This is not to suggest the children wander about unchaperoned.

Enter Matron Aunt Gracie.

You may remember Gracie. She’s appeared on her own and often with Hecate. They’re BFF, you know.

Gracie will fluff at first when Hecate’s tribe trundles out. They’re not delicate or subtle-footed, this brood.

Then she settles down. Remember toughguy Clyde (aka Brutus)? He’ll charge her. She’ll look down at him and spread her wings. He runs back to Hecate. She ignores him.

Sounds like my mother, my aunt, and me, come to think of it.

 

This Year’s Kits, Pt 2

We’re learning each others’ names

I shared Hecate‘s revealing her kits to us in last week’s installment.

Proud mother that she is and knowing this Two-Legger always has a plentiful supply of peanuts and cookies, she’s brought them back many nights running.

Of course, this means they’ve gotten use to me.

Ever had raccoons get use to you?

Baby raccoons?

They have no respect.

They run over my feet, paw my legs, stand up with their little paws out.

I feel like I’m in Oliver Twist. “Please, sir. More.”

Hecate, me thinks, is glad to have us as grand…parents? Her children definitely qualify as grandkits.

I mentioned Clyde in the last installment. We’re going with Brutus as a nickname. The smallest is Penelope. She’s always the last to come forward, the first to leave. I worry for her. You may remember Bess from a few years back. She didn’t make it.

Such is life in The Wild.

And without further adieu, more kits:

*nbsp;