Meeting a fox

On Tuesday morning I went outside with my rattles to dance with Spirit and do my daily practice. As I rattled and sang, I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. This beautiful, large fox was looking at me, watching me, before trotting off and disappearing between the garage and the fence at the bottom of the garden. I felt honoured, but didn't give it a second thought.

But an hour or so later, it was back. It was standing in the garden, very still. And a little later it was lying down under a conifer, in full view from my window. This is rather unusual behaviour for a fox. In fact, I thought it looked like it was about to keel over and die there and then. But through the obvious symptoms of illness, I saw how stunningly beautiful this fox was.

Alex and I deliberated what to do. I wanted to help the animal, but realised it didn't make much sense to call the RSPCA and have it removed from its territory. Instead, I put some food out for Mr Fox, as I was calling it by then. I was sure it must be a male, because it was so large. I scared it when I put out the food, and I noticed it tried to jump the fence but couldn't. Usually, foxes don't see the garden fences as an obstacle: they negotiate them easily, like cats. But it looked like this fox had made its last jump.

I didn't see it again that day. But the next morning I spotted it under the shrubs at the side of the garden. I walked to the park to do my practice, wanting to let it die in peace. I didn't go into the garden again until Thursday morning. I poked the fox with a stick and found it was very much dead by then.

But I felt so honoured to have met it. Recently, I have been learning how to root deep into the earth, and I have discovered how much I am part of this land where I live. And so is the fox: very rooted and very much part of this patch of suburbia that was its territory. I felt a strong kinship with this fox, knowing that my roots and its roots had touched. That and the sheer beauty of the animal made me want to keep its skin. So Alex put it in the garage, dry and safe, and discovered that Mr Fox is a Mrs.

Skinning a fox

But how do you go about skinning an animal? Long ago, I have seen my grandmother kill and skin a rabbit for the pot. The skinning was easy, literally like taking off its jacket. But this is a much larger animal, and I have never done anything like this. So I decided to call on a friend of mine who collects animal parts as part of her practice of Druidry.

I made a shamanic journey to the spirit of the fox and asked her if she was willing to let me have her skin. She said that I could have her skin but not her skull or bones, and that she wanted to be buried in her territory. I also asked how we should proceed, and if there was any work we could do for all foxes. During that journey, my spirit helpers did some work to help foxes everywhere live in peace.

My friend arrived at 6pm on Friday, straight after work. We decided that it was probably better to eat first, because stopping for a meal in the middle of the procedure didn't seem right. Especially since we weren't sure what Mrs Fox had died of, although another friend had suggested she might have been in a fight. By the time we had prepared the space in the garage, had our dinner, made all practical preparations and were grounded and ready, it was nearly 9pm.

We went to the garage, stated our intent, and called peace to the quarters. Then we made three circles: one around us, one around the sacred space in the garage, and one around the whole property so that we had some freedom of movement. As I rattled in the elements from the four directions, I saw the freedom of the fox running in the East, the passion of the fox fighting and hunting in the South, the harmony of the fox suckling her young in the West and the belonging of the fox in her den in the North. We called the spirit of the fox, and my spirit teacher, to help us and show us what to do.

Since I am making the commitment to work with the spirit of this fox, I did all the actual skinning. My friend was there support me and give any practical help I needed. And so we started.

The process was amazing. The body of the fox as we uncovered it from its fur was telling us stories of its life and death. The first thing that became obvious was that Mrs Fox was a very well fed urban fox. She had a good layer of fat under her skin. Next, we confirmed that she had indeed died of the consequences of a serious fight. Some of the internal bleeding was horrendous. This also made it difficult to do the skinning, because it wasn't clear where the edge between flesh and skin was because of the coagulated blood. Some of her wounds had been infected too, and some of her muscles had discoloured because of that. With every wound I discovered, I appreciated her individuality more, and I felt closer to her.

I learned a lot about how bodies are put together, and how skin is attached to the rest of us. I learned where the edge is, and I learned to stay calm and grounded, even though the whole thing was taking a lot longer than I had hoped. But once we started, we had to keep going. It was clear to both of us that this process was meaningful, and that the story of this beautiful animal needed to continue. We were committed.

As I worked, I learned to listen to the fox, and let her show me what to do next. When things got difficult, I asked for her help and received it. For a first attempt at skinning an animal, I think I did a really good job. I am especially pleased that I managed to preserve the skin of her face, with ears, nose, and whiskers. She still looks really beautiful.

By the time I'd reached the nose, it was 1am. We then wrapped the remains of Mrs Fox in a sheet of calico with sprigs of rosemary. As we buried her in the garden, in a pit that Alex had dug earlier in the day, we prayed that all foxes may live and die in peace. We then returned to the garage and closed the ceremony. When we got inside, it was 2am. My friend and I both had a glass of celebratory wine and a thorough shower. We didn't make it to bed until 3.

Cleaning a skin

Today, Saturday, I was on my own. We had a long lie-in and my friend left before midday. After lunch, I continued the process on my own, with a little help from Alex. I still kept the garage as sacred space. We stretched the skin by pinning it to a board, and I had to scrape the remaining flesh and fat off the skin. This isn't exactly nice, especially the part with the fat. And I scraped for hours. We were all a bit lost as to what to do next, so my friend and I both called people who both said the same thing: scrape as much as you can off the skin now and then let it dry.

At first it looked relatively easy. But then I got some advice from a nice man called Thomas form Trackways, who told me I needed to get as much of the membrane off the skin as I could. And that wasn't easy. I'm not sure if I ever even found the membrane. As soon as I'd removed a layer, I seemed to find another. And some of it just really doesn't want to come off. But I have done the best I can. I've washed the skin with some detergent to cut through the remaining fat. Now I'll just have to leave the element of air to dry it out for me.

In the process of skinning and scraping, I did make a few holes in the skin. In intend to repair the worst ones with dental floss (apparently that's the recommended thing: waxed thread), because I fear they might get bigger when I work on the skin in the tanning process. This is going to involve eggs, a stretching frame, and a lot of man (or woman) hours. And smoke, too. I'll let you know how it goes...