Craiters: 18 - Foxie
Author(s): Alexander Fenton
Copyright holder(s): Alexander Fenton
Half up e steep bit, ere's a trackie at rins wi e contour. At's ma first stoppin pint, jist tae look aroon an get ma breath back. Ye'll aften hear e squeeryins o rabbits an files ere's wee bunnies tootlin aboot e edges o e fun busses, haein a look at ye, bit ay ready tae rin, as ye pech yer wye up. On ae partickler nicht, it wis rale dark, ere'd been some fleein flizzems o fite shoories, bit ere wis patches o strong meenlicht tee brakkin throwe e cloods fae time tae time. I noticet a meevement on e edge o a ridge jist ower till e east o faar I wis stannin, faar e twistit spinnle shanks o fun an breem busses at hid been brunt wis clear against e nicht sky, an intill es line, bold as ye like, cam a fox trottin up e hill, wi a rabbit in its moo. Roka the Fox, thocht I tae masel, giein't a name, an iver aifter ilky fox I've come on's been Roka tae me. Nae doot es een geed hame wi its booty, maybe tae feed young eens.
Files it's nae chancy on e hill. Ere's squaads o young fowk gang aboot on't, an ye can hear o odd things happenin, bit fegs I've aye been aa richt. Fin it's snaavy or weet ere's usually less chance o seein onybody, onywye. Ere wis eence though, fin I’d geen up e steep face an won till e tap, ere wis a crood o young fowk in e kinna halla ye get jist afore e croon o e hill, an wi e snaa on e grun, ere wis plinty o ammunition. I kent be em ey were jist on a pint o haivin snaabaas at's, an ere wis a lot o em. Sae I stopped, nae haein planned onything bit wirkin be instinct –
‘Hello’, I said, ‘Have you seen the fox down there?'
Ey geed tae look, an I walkit on. A handy thing, a fox.
Ere’s aafa hullocks o es toonser foxes nooadays, I've tellt ye aboot e een at wis tryin tae howk a den in below wir gairden shed till I scuppert its enterprise be layin a brick in e road. It mith a been e same fox at aften maks tracks across e gairden in e evenins. I put oot mait for e birds or for e hedgehog (ere's files een aboot) ae nicht an as I turnet for e hoose I heard a kinna bark fae e hedge. A wisna weel at e door afore aal Roka wis at e mait. I geed in, got ma camera, geed oot again, an ye cd sweer e craiter wis willin tae pose for its picter tae be teen. It wisna need feart. Sharp cockit lugs an a face like a puppy, though its lang tail wis a bittie scruffy.
Anither nicht I wis comin up e Avenue in e dark fin I saa ma freen Fred stannin on e pavement peerin at something. As I got closer, I saa ere wis e fox aside im, snufflin roon e bin bags an winnerin fit een wid hae e tastiest tooshties o mait. I stoppit tae swap a fyow wirds an e fox peyed nae attention, jist cairriet on, heedin neither hiz nor e traffic. Fin it thocht ere wis naething deein, it held on in e airt o e hill, walkin past’s as calm as ye like.
Ye hiv tae learn nae tae pit aitable things intae bin bags withoot vrappin em up, ir sure's fate in e mornin ere'll hae been shairp teeth throwe e plastic an a sotter ower yer front path, showin aff tae yer neebers e kinna trock ye pit in yer bucket. A funny thing - though it's aa black bags nooadays, ye ay spik aboot pittin oot e bucket. Ey spik aboot fowk in e country being slow tae change, bit it's jist e same in e toons, except at e foxes hiv condeetioned e fowk, wi aa es rowin up o orrals at ey dee.
It’s winnerfae e sense e foxes his. Jist e ither wik, I wis oot for a walk wi a freen o mine, e wis brocht up neesht door bit noo his a flat o eez ain. E's hame twa ir three times a wik, an I convoy im back again, getting aa e news an a bit o exerceese at e same time, at at’s sair nott fin ye spen a lot o time be day sittin at a desk ficherin wi paper. On ma road back I got as e rin-in (I'd putten e car intill e garage earlier on), fin I noticet somethin on e laan in front o e dinin-room windae. It wis jist Roka, sittin on eez bum wi eez hin legs crossed, e perfect gentleman, peerin wi great interest at something in e flooer bed, maybe a beetle. Said I –
Sure’s death, it pirkit up its lugs an lookit at's, its heid aa ye wid ken on ae side. Syne it raise, stretched itsel, cockit its leg against a heich clump o flooers, an strolled till e gate. A car door slammed somewye an it jumpit a bittie at a noise. Cars wis teerin up an doon e Avenue an it lookit first up, syne doon, syne up again e same's it hid been a bairn trained in e skweel, an fin a gap cam in e traffic it trottit ower till e plots, throwe e railin an oot o sicht.
Bit ey dinna aa learn road sense. A filie back, I took a short cut throwe e plots an jist inside e gate ere wis lyin a young een, curlet up peacefu like richt enyeuch, bit deid. A car hid likely knackit it on e road. A bonny colour o fur it hid. Sic a shame at young things hiv tae dee.
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Craiters: 18 - Foxie. 2021. In The Scottish Corpus of Texts & Speech. Glasgow: University of Glasgow. Retrieved January 2021, from http://www.scottishcorpus.ac.uk/document/?documentid=542.
"Craiters: 18 - Foxie." The Scottish Corpus of Texts & Speech. Glasgow: University of Glasgow, 2021. Web. January 2021. http://www.scottishcorpus.ac.uk/document/?documentid=542.
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