Reaching back in time, there were a handful of gray foxes that stood out and each has made an indelible mark on my memory. One such gray fox I called Blackie. From the very first time that I saw him, he did not act like most of the other foxes that I’d met for the first time. Instead of being skittish, then gradually accepting my presence, he immediately approached. 

We had cameras on Harbor Hill, and one morning at about 7:30 I walked along the backside of one of the water treatment plant’s buildings. I came around a corner. Ahead the ground rose and there were two large eucalyptus trees topping that small rise. From between those two trees, a gray fox emerged. I stopped, slowly lifted my camera, and took several photographs of him. He stood there for maybe 30 seconds or so before he came trotting up to where I stood. I was astounded. I had never known a fox that was so forth coming. He just looked up at me. I assessed him, wondering what might have made him so comfortable around me. I also noticed that he was slender yet muscular. He lacked much of the reddish and white coloration on his chest. He looked dark. Right then and there I decided to call him Blackie.

For the next month, he popped up here and there along the trails as I swapped out SD cards from the cameras. In that process, he shifted his territory from Harbor Hill over to Fox Hollow where Mama Bold and Gray had their natal den. Their daughter, Pale, with just the opposite coloration from Blackie, had tried to disperse, but failed and she had come back into her parent’s home range. 

For a while that was okay with Mama Bold and Gray, but as it turned out, Pale took a liking to this little tough, gray fox Blackie. They began hanging out with one another; obviously pairing up. I noticed that as this relationship developed that Gray was becoming a bit concerned about what was happening: His daughter was supposed to have dispersed, but she hadn’t and now she had paired up with Blackie. They would be a strain on resources if they remained in Bold and Gray’s home range. 

One morning I walked through Fox Hollow on my way to my car. Gray lay off under the edge of the brushline near the steel gate. He didn’t move. On up the road near the truck washing pad, Blackie came trotting toward me. I chattered at him, and instead of he just continuing down the dirt road, he followed me. Several times I tried to shoo him off, but that did no good. At the car I again tried to get him to go back down the road. He just sat near the gate about 10 feet away. I climbed into the driver’s seat and the next instant Blackie was on the hood of my car peering in at me. He cocked his head left, then right a couple of times. I got out of the car. Blackie jumped to the ground. I shouted and ran at him. He ran back down the dirt road. I drove away. 

Several days later, again in the early morning, I sensed that something was wrong in fox land, but I couldn’t put my finger on just what it was. As I walked through Fox Hollow, ahead near the truck washing pad, sat Blackie. Between he and I, Gray stood on the dirt road staring at Blackie. I stopped, took a couple photos, and waited. Blackie trotted over and into the coyote bush thicket across from the truck washing pad. Gray moved to the road’s edge and I walked past him, heading for my car that was parked in the high-tech complex. There at my car, I had the trunk lid open and I was putting away my camera and a few other items, when suddenly, Gray quick-trotted past me and continued on down the sidewalk toward the coyote bush thicket. I watched and waited. Suddenly, from off in the brush, there came the screams and “shouts” of two gray foxes fighting; obviously Gray and Blackie. 

From that morning on, Blackie and Pale moved their home range over onto Harbor Hill. Gray never to my knowledge ever went over there to visit, but Mama Bold made it a regular place to go and check in with her daughter. The two of them had a strong mother-daughter relationship. 

Early one morning, shortly before sunrise, I drove along Embarcadero Road, heading for the trail cameras on Harbor Hill. As I made that sweeping right turn on Embarcadero Road, headed out toward Byxbee Park, flying directly toward me at windshield level came a Canada Goose. I slowed and wondered whether that bird would hit my windshield. At the last moment it gained enough altitude to barely clear my car. Its tail feathers looked ragged and some wing feathers had been dislodged. It landed about 20 feet behind me out in the middle of the road. I stopped. 

It was only then that I saw Blackie in a fast-trot rushing toward me in the middle of the road. He had but one thing in mind: Catch that goose and have it for dinner. The distraught, honking goose floundered over onto the oncoming lane of traffic. Blackie trotted toward the goose. I shouted at him. Out of mindless fear, that goose ran, flapping its wings with all of its might, and somehow it lifted off, sailed between two large trees along the road and landed in the airport. Blackie just stood there and watched it go.

Until next month, enjoy the wildlife living in your backyard, and keep them safe.