Bingo and the Little Fox
Evenings at home followed a comfortable routine.
After dinner, Bingo joined his pack in the living room for what he considered the most important part of the day: family time.
There was usually a quilt, something to watch on television, and—most importantly—a warm lap waiting for him. Bingo curled up close, perfectly content while Judit and Bill watched TV. Sometimes he watched too. Sometimes he slept through most of it.
Eventually the television was switched off, the lights went out, and everyone headed to bed.
Everyone, that is, except Bingo. He waited until the house grew quiet. Then he slipped through his little doggy door and stepped into the cool night air.
Perhaps it was the call of the wild.
Perhaps it was simply the irresistible curiosity of a Wire Fox Terrier.
Whatever it was, Bingo had always believed that once the humans went to sleep, the night belonged to him.
He made his usual inspection of the garden, nose working busily through the damp grass. Everything seemed to be in order. But beyond the fence was another matter.
There was always something interesting out there—a hedgehog rustling through the leaves, a cat taking an unauthorized shortcut, or a mysterious new smell drifting in from the meadow. Bingo simply had to know what was going on.
He trotted toward the loose plank in the fence and slipped through the little gap, as he had many times before.
On this particular night, Bingo found a fox.
A very small fox.
The cub stood beneath the hedge, frozen absolutely still. His enormous ears were upright, his tail was tucked tightly beneath him, and his whole little body was trembling.
Bingo stopped.
The fox stared at him.
Bingo took one step closer.
The fox took two steps backwards.
“Hello,” said Bingo.
The fox said nothing.
“I’m Bingo.”
Still nothing.
Bingo tilted his head.
“Are you always this quiet?”
The little fox swallowed.
“You’re a dog.”
Bingo looked briefly at himself, just to make sure nothing had changed.
“Yes.”
“A terrier.”
Bingo was rather impressed.
“You know your dogs.”
The cub backed farther into the hedge.
“My mother says terriers chase foxes.”
“Ah.”
Bingo sat down. This seemed like the sort of situation in which sitting was better than chasing.
“Well, I’m not chasing you.”
The little fox considered this. It was undeniably true.
“What’s your name?”
“Rusty”
“And what are you doing out here all by yourself, Rusty?”
Rusty glanced toward the dark meadow.
“Mama went hunting. She told me to stay hidden until she came back.”
“And did you?”
“For a while.”
Bingo knew something about instructions that were followed for a while.
“I heard something,” Rusty continued. “Then I thought something was following me. So I ran. And now I don’t know exactly where I am.”
That explained the trembling.
Bingo looked back toward his garden.
Just behind the fence stood his little outdoor house. Judit had made the corner around it rather cheerful, with flowers growing beside the walls and a few colorful pinwheels tucked among them. On breezy days they spun merrily above the flower bed.
Most importantly, the little house was dry and sheltered, with a soft well worn quilt inside. Bingo rarely needed it. After all, there were considerably more comfortable quilts in the big house. But tonight it suddenly seemed useful.
“I have an idea,” he said. “You can sleep in my house.”
Rusty’s ears shot up.
“Your house?”
“My outdoor house. It’s just behind the fence.”
Rusty stared suspiciously at the gap between the boards.
“You want me to go into a dog’s house?”
“It has a roof.”
Rusty said nothing.
“And a quilt.”
Still nothing.
“It’s dry.”
Rusty looked up at the sky. A drop of rain landed directly between his ears. That settled the matter. Bingo led him through the loose plank. Rusty stopped when he saw the little house surrounded by flowers. One of the pinwheels turned lazily in the evening breeze.
“This is yours?”
“Mostly,” said Bingo. “I don’t own the flowers.”
Rusty inspected the house carefully before stepping inside. He sniffed the quilt, turned around twice, then curled himself into the smallest possible ball. Bingo settled near the entrance.
“You’re not coming in?”
“It’s a little house,” Bingo said. “And you have surprisingly large ears.”
For the first time, Rusty smiled.
“Will Mama know where I am?”
“We’ll find her in the morning,” Bingo promised. “You can tell her where you spent the night. And next time, if she has to go hunting, she’ll know there’s a safe place nearby.”
Rusty was quiet for a moment.
“Will you come with me?”
“Of course.”
That seemed to be the answer he had been waiting for. By the time the rain began tapping steadily on the roof, the little fox was asleep.
Early the next morning, Judit heard Bingo stirring. A few moments later, the little doggy door swung shut behind him. Nothing unusual about that. But when Judit glanced through the window, she stopped.
There, among the flowers and colorful pinwheels, a rusty red head had appeared in the doorway of Bingo’s outdoor house.
Judit blinked.
A fox. A baby fox. The cub looked cautiously around the garden. Then Bingo trotted over. Judit expected the little fox to disappear immediately back into the house. Instead, Rusty stepped outside. Bingo greeted him with a wagging tail. Rusty stretched, shook the last bit of sleep from his fur and looked toward the fence.
Then Bingo set off. Rusty followed. Together they crossed the garden, squeezed through the loose plank and disappeared into the meadow.
Judit remained at the window for a moment, wondering what exactly Bingo had been doing during the night. She had a feeling there was a story behind this. And with Bingo, there usually was.
Bingo and Rusty had not gone far when a red shape appeared at the edge of the woods.
Rusty stopped.
“Mama!”
The vixen ran toward him—and then stopped just as suddenly when she saw who was walking beside her son.
Bingo sat down. Again, he felt sitting was the sensible choice.
Rusty raced to his mother and disappeared beneath her chest.
“I got lost,” he explained. “But Bingo found me. I slept in his house. It has a roof and a quilt.”
The vixen looked at Bingo for a very long moment.
“I see.”
“He’s a terrier,” Rusty added importantly.
“I can see that.”
“But he doesn’t chase foxes.”
Bingo decided this was probably not the moment to mention that he had never actually been offered the opportunity before. So far he only chased cats and squirrels.
The vixen lowered her head slightly.
“Thank you for keeping him safe and bringing him home.”
Bingo stood and wagged his tail.
“He can use the little house whenever he needs it.”
Rusty peeked out from behind his mother.
“Even when it isn’t raining?”
“Of course.”
“And the pinwheels?”
Bingo grinned.
“They’ll be there too.”
Rusty looked at his mother.
“Could I visit sometime?”
Mama Fox looked at Bingo, then at her cub.
“I think that could be arranged.”
Bingo’s tail wagged even faster. He turned toward home, leaving Rusty safely beside his mother.
The sun was rising above the garden when Bingo squeezed through the loose plank once again. The flowers around his little house were sparkling with raindrops, and the morning breeze had begun to turn the pinwheels.
Bingo had gone out expecting an adventure. Instead, he had come home with a new friend. And somewhere beyond the fence, a little fox had learned something important too:
Not everything you hear about terriers is true.
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Baby Foxes and Pinwheels, Size: 39" x 48"
If the little foxes and colorful pinwheels in Bingo’s adventure seemed familiar, there is a reason!
Baby Foxes with Pinwheels brings the same playful combination to fabric. Sweet geometric foxes peek in from the sides while bright pinwheel blocks dance through the center, creating a cheerful crib-size quilt full of movement and personality. The finished quilt measures 39” × 48” and combines foundation-pieced fox blocks with traditionally pieced pinwheels.
This design also has a special place in the QuiltFOX story. Created in 2015, Baby Foxes with Pinwheels is one of my early QuiltFOX designs—and perhaps a little reminder that foxes have been part of my creative world for a very long time.
Maybe Bingo was destined to make friends with a little fox after all.
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