“If my bitches are useless,” the bald hunter shouted, “I’ll have to catch this fox myself!”

His thick ivory teeth gleamed in the moonlight.

He reached into the front pocket of his suede jacket, pulling-out a Cuban, smelling the manure scent.

He bit off the end of it, enjoying the tobacco taste, spitting it out, much how a rat bites off the head of a cockroach.

Then he pulled a golden lighter from his jeans and flicked the flint, igniting a flame.

The yellow fire made his eyes look evil in the dark.

His bitches cringed.

“Don’t worry babies… I have a plan.”

Meanwhile…

the male fox thought he had gotten off scot-free. He trotted into the forest to find a hollow tree, preferably, with lots of dry leaves, and when he found one, he dug into the tinder to make his nest—that was, until he smelled smoke.

His nose was a natural smoke detector.

The male fox poked his head out and saw murky trees in a fiery fog—

a red wall of flames,

that would eat him up.

He panicked, and began to run, but it seemed that the fire encircled him. He was completely disoriented and couldn’t breathe, and that’s when he heard the far-off laughter of the hunter.

“No wild animal escapes me! We’ll smoke ‘im out!”

The male fox ran along the ridge, where the fire had already jumped the highway, and out of the deadly mist came a robin egg blue Ford pick-up truck. It was driving slowly, like the last taxi out of hell.

The male fox had one chance. He jumped, and as he fell through the air he made friends with his fate, and that’s when he hit the hard bed of the pick-up. He was safe. The old driver didn’t know what it was back there, and he didn’t care.

The fire ended in four hundred feet at the river, and the fox crossed that bridge over troubled waters, and went home at midnight, to live another day.

The End

PS.

The hunter got second degree burns all over his arms and face and his bitches got burned really badly.

I guess,

that’s the lesson they learned—

never mess with a fire fox.