HOW I MET FOXI

Some friendships begin in ways that make perfect sense. Others begin with a story so ridiculous that nobody would believe it if it weren’t true.

Mine started with a hotdog.

Years ago, while living off-grid in the forests near Arizona’s Mogollon Rim, I became curious about what was visiting camp when I wasn’t paying attention. Wildlife was constantly moving through the area, and I wanted to know exactly who was showing up and what they were interested in.

Like many ideas that seem brilliant at the time, my solution was simple. I tied a hotdog to the end of roughly two hundred feet of poly line and ran the other end back to camp where it was connected to a small bell. The plan was that if something grabbed the hotdog, the bell would ring and I’d know immediately that I had a visitor.

Then I settled into my hammock and waited.

It didn’t take long.

At some point that afternoon I heard the bell ring and jumped to my feet. Something had definitely taken the bait. I grabbed the line and started pulling it toward camp, expecting to discover what had been helping itself to free hotdogs.

What I discovered instead was that my plan had a major flaw.

The fox hadn’t simply taken the hotdog.

She had swallowed it.

Along with the line attached to it.

Suddenly I found myself connected to a wild fox by two hundred feet of rope and one very poor decision.

The fox was just as confused as I was. As she tried to figure out what was happening, she ended up bumping lightly into a tree while attempting to escape whatever invisible force seemed to be following her through the woods. Nobody was hurt, but I immediately realized how foolish the whole idea had been. What had sounded clever in my head that morning suddenly felt pretty stupid.

Eventually I managed to keep just enough tension on the line that it slowly worked its way back out. The fox took off into the forest and disappeared between the pines.

I felt terrible.

If I had been that fox, I would have avoided that camp for the rest of my life.

A few days later I was relaxing in my hammock when I noticed movement near the edge of camp. Standing there, watching me from a distance, was the same fox.

I couldn’t believe it.

This time there were no ropes, no experiments, and no attempts at being clever. I simply broke a hotdog into small pieces and tossed them across the ground. She cautiously approached, grabbed one, then another, and eventually another.

From that moment forward, things changed.

Over time she became a regular visitor. Some days she would appear shortly after sunrise. Other days she would show up near sunset. Sometimes she would simply sit at the edge of camp and watch everything going on around her. She seemed to know exactly where she was and exactly who I was.

Eventually I started calling her Foxi.

What began as a brief encounter slowly turned into one of the most rewarding wildlife experiences of my life. Over the years I would come to know her remarkably well. She would introduce me to another fox I came to know as her boyfriend. Later there would be kits, winter adventures, stolen treasures, and countless moments that no camera could ever fully capture.

People often assume my favorite memories are the photographs hanging on the walls or stored on hard drives. While I certainly treasure those images, some of my best memories were never photographed at all. They exist only in my mind: the sound of paws moving through pine needles, a familiar face appearing between the trees, and the quiet trust that slowly developed between a human and a wild animal.

Looking back, it’s hard not to laugh.

An entire friendship that would last for years began because of a hotdog, a bell, and one of the worst ideas I’ve ever had.

But if that bell had never rung, I might never have met Foxi. And if I had never met Foxi, many of the stories you’re about to read would never have happened.