Vulpes vulpes

 Is a fox magical?

Contemporary wisdom says no. One of the benefits of an information-rich society is that we can have each creature mapped, learned, and counted, and once we've shone the light on them we can pat ourselves on the back knowing there is no magic to the creature at all. The fox belongs to the canine family, along with jackals, raccoons, and, of course, the domestic dog, and it has 6-8 nipples. Yet the magic remains--what else compels us to learn about each creature to begin with? What drives us to watch and write and draw them with such earnest observation, to learn every behavior and cycle? 

Despite their solitary nature and rare interaction with men, foxes are considered among the wisest of all creatures in virtually every culture on Earth in contact with them. The Japanese Kitsune changes shapes, but in truth is indistinguishable, even one and the same, with the mundane fox. They call youth to themselves, seducing them like sirens. Even in the west we may call such women "foxy".  But I was not fully satisfied with this. 

Lord Dunsany, with his great affection for traditional hunts and its creatures, follows the fox on his journey. The fox is distant, observant, but not faerie. Like balancing on walls and logs, the fox watches both the Fields We Know and Elfland with equal distance and focus. He is discerning, contemplative, wise but curious. The trolls and all creatures of Elfland call him "Noman's dog."

Are these foxes magical? It may be argued that a Kitsune is not a fox at all, distinct from the mundane fox. Despite acting as its inspiration and origin, it may be said that the mundane fox cannot be magical, that fantasy acts as a commentary on reality distinct from it. Dunsany's fox is no different than the mundane. He does not magic, acts in a fully predictable fashion for a fox (barring speaking to a troll in a fox's tongue, which all animals are known to do from time to time). In this way, the fox remains true to its mundane nature that we know to be real. 

I was drawn to foxes as a child, perhaps because one of my oldest and dearest toys was a fox. A hairy, itchy gift shop type creature, with deep gold and black glass eyes that made its limp frame look alive. I had read Dahl's Fantastic Mr. Fox nearly as early as I could read (and I began early), and Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's fox told me of feelings I couldn't yet understand but held on to until I could. Soon enough I was grown, and as these things go I met a woman. She likened me to the fox, and the label felt like it had been there without my knowledge long before she had ever placed it. We were already married when she tattooed the creature on me.

And thus, I have fallen for the Fox's trap. The fox is a mundane creature so sly, it has convinced us that it is magical. The fox, barely smarter than a mere dog, has us all following its bushy tail, wondering where it wanders and what wisdom it keeps buried. Wondering how it learned so much about love and attachment, how it learned to seduce us so. What fools we are! How many more mundane things have convinced us of their magic? How many sea breezes that seemed to ask to be caught in huge canvas nets, that we might ride them into the deep? How many rainbows caught in our eyes whispered of their precious gold? Why can't we pull ourselves away from them, even knowing their true, predictable nature? What do we think we might see?







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