I was sitting on a stump in southern Albemarle County with a 30-30 rifle, hoping that a nice buck might happen by and give up his tenderloins, but Br’er Deer never showed. Br’er Fox did, however, and what a beautiful creature.
About an hour before sunset, he appeared from behind a tree, nose to the ground, on the exact trail a squirrel had just used. Br’er Fox was hopping down that trail, lickety-splickety, splickety-lickety, jes’ as happy as a jaybird on a pile of fresh peanuts. He was within ten yards, but the wind was in my favor and Br’er Fox had no idea he was so close to such a powerful rifle. But who could harm this magnificent animal?
His eyes and nose were jet black and his soft red coat was fluffy and shiny. It looked like he had just come home from a professional groomer. He continued down the trail, stopped at a creek, had himself a sip of water and was soon out of sight.
Minutes later, Br’er Squirrel began barking from a nearby tree, then another squirrel and another and another. Soon, it sounded like a veritable Mormon Tabernacle Choir of Squirrels, except they were all cussing out Br’er Fox, not singing hymns. I had seen a few squirrels, but had no idea there were than many so close by. And they were not at all happy that Br’er Fox was in their neck of the woods.
I chuckled and thought about all the great characters in my “Tales Of Uncle Remus” book. My chilluns’ used to love it when I read to them about Uncle Remus and all the Critters. And lo and behold, I saw a real one. Br’er Fox had jes’ passed by.