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Suspicious at first, the web-foots soon began investigating them.
The fox released perhaps a dozen mouthfuls of weeds during the next few minutes. Thus seduced to playfulness, the ducks awaited each batch expectantly. Then Reynard executed his master stroke. Grabbing an extra large bunch of weed, he slipped quietly into the river. Only the tip of his nose was above water, and that was hidden by the weeds.
When the submarine fox drew closer, one of the ducks, impatient to be at the weeds, swam up to meet them. There was a quick lunge, a flurry of wings, and a great splashing of water. Soon Raynard, a fat duck in his mouth, was swimming back to land. — Outdoor sleepers in all weather, red foxes use dens only when it is time to raise their young. The vixen then chooses a safe retreat. Some are burrows made by enlarging a woodchuck hole in a sheltered bank, underneath a brushpile, or in the roots of a windfall tree. I’ve even seen abandoned threshing machines and the junked bodies of automobiles converted into fox nurseries.
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