From yips to shrieks, fox talk runs the gamut

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The Outside Story

by Susie Spikol

Sometimes it pays to be an insomniac.  One frigid winter night, I climbed out of my restless bed and slipped outside to stand under a sky littered with stars and take in the complete silence of darkness.  Suddenly, a ruckus broke out along the edge of the pond near my home.  A series of high-pitched yips echoed from the shore.  A wild yapping answered from closer to my own yard.  I had seen their tracks the last few weeks, traversing the meadow, crossing onto the frozen pond and up along the trail into the forest.  I had smelled their skunk-ish markings along the high hummocks of the path and found their slender, twisted scats on top of the stone walls and raised rocks in the meadow.

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