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Promise of the White Fox.

1972. A location in the British Isles.

The horn sounded; the dogs barked and ran to the scent; the fox in close cover ran for its life, dashing across an open field heading for the woods and the freedom it would find there. But the fox was caught in the open and although he frantically changed his direction, in an effort to evade the hounds, they persistently continued the hunt until the lead dog launched itself on the fox, bringing it down.

What followed was a yelping, and a tearing of flesh. It was a scene of lunacy; the hounds in frantic ecstasy, wagging their tails, running around the fox; their masters blowing triumphantly on the horns, sitting high on their horses.

I watched unobserved from my hidden military position on the hill opposite, silently protesting, wanting to voice an opinion, wanting to seek some justification for what I had witnessed; but I remained silent. When the blooding had taken place I watched the group turn their horses and hounds home victoriously, leaving me emotionally still long after they had gone.

Some time later I heard the voices of Red Troop,' as they came looking for me, and while about to secure my position further, a sudden movement to my immediate right, caused me to look sideways into the undergrowth. In all of my days I have never witnessed anything so beautiful, so natural; there face to face with me stood a vixen, noticeably pregnant. She sat and looked at me, and in a trance-like state I returned her gaze; totally intrigued.

From time to time her gaze would shift from me to the carcass below, and I felt that she expected me to give her some reason or explanation for what had taken place. I felt a deep regret, and a voice that did not seem like my own spoke out softly; I don't know,' I really don't know,' I said.

By now Red Troop had moved off in the direction of the huntsmen, and the vixen, passing within inches of me, turned for the last time, before running into the field below.

I watched as she explored the ground, and I heard her whimper as discovery was made; like a lost child, she looked around as if unsure of which way to turn. She started off in the direction of the woods, but after only a few yards she turned back, and lay on the ground facing the remains of her mate. Again the whimper, although this time it seemed prolonged and throaty, somewhat of a lament, I thought.

In the distance someone fired a shotgun at a far away target, but the vixen, startled, stood and timidly prepared to run

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