The Bright Light
of Veganism"When I went vegan,
I felt as though, finally,
I was a part of the world,
as though I actually fitted in.
It was a glorious feeling
that just overwhelmed
my heart and soul.
I’ll never forget it."Sarah Carson
Dead Fox Walking
July 2008It is a peaceful evening, as the sun sinks ever lower into the dark abyss of the night. Stars can be seen, ever so faintly in the distance, and the moon glows eerily through the darkening blue sky. A silent cloud glides ever so smoothly across the horizon, a gentle warning of the storm to come. Birds sing softly from the tree tops as the silent forest settles down, leaves rustling in a long, whispering sigh. A sparrow floats effortlessly through the clear, calm evening, wings brushing the very tip of the breeze that flows through the air with a whistling song. A small fox wonders out of the trees, eyes glaring in the ever softening light. She silently sniffs the grass around her feet, perhaps catching the scent of a rabbit she was trailing. Behind her, there is a small rustle in the bushes and a pup sticks his head out, eyes watering in the glowing light of the moon, fur as sleek as velvet and nose curiously perked up in the air, smelling the sweet, magical scent of the ever nearing night. A tiny paw extends from the bush, and the delicate fox takes a trembling step out of his hiding place. The mother turns and watches her son take his first investigation of his surroundings, feeling the fresh grass between his claws, and occasionally tumbling off from his shaky legs. A proud look glints through the mother’s eye, and she stands tall and proud, allowing her pup to roll around on the grassy floor.
The moment is soon dashed as a horn sounds from the nearby trees, cutting the silence of the night and startling the mother and baby. The hunting cry pierces the sky and shatters the warmness of the moon, turning it cold and sterile. Birds erupt from the surrounding trees and burst through the night. The baby cries out in surprise and hurries back to the safety of his bush, eyes wide with fear. From inside he pokes his nose through the leaves and watches his mother who stands alert and protective. He cries out again, desperately calling to his mother to join him. She remains as still as the night, transfixed on the entrance to a small path leading out of the forest. The horn sounds again, this time much closer and faint howls of hunting dogs can be heard amongst the noise. The mother tenses, eyes luminous with fear and threat. Her baby cries out one final time and the mother turns to hurry into the bush. Even as she bounds over the grass towards safety, another horn sounds out through the night, echoing over the fields and banishing the peace.
The first beagle comes bursting through the undergrowth, teeth ripping through the night. The mother fox comes to a halt in front of the bush and watches as more and more dogs come pouring out of the forest, all of them with teeth bared in a menacing and murderous snarl, and all with that same look in the eye of an instinct turned savage. The mother stands for a moment, frozen in fear, before turning and scampering off over the hill in a desperate attempt to lead the driven creatures away from her precious pup. All of a sudden, a large creature emerges from the forest after the dogs, long legs galloping over the soft earth, a horse charging from the shadows. On the horse’s back sits a man, posture as stiff as a board, helmet fastened carefully around his head and a posh red coat tightly clinging across his chest. Around ten others follow him out of the forest; all dressed the same making it impossible to tell between them, all sitting upright on their horses, proudly playing their hellish game. The pup can only watch as his mother charges through the grass, red fur acting as a beacon of fire, alerting the monstrous creatures on horses of her presence. Cheers erupt from the beasts, and the pace of the animals quicken, dogs howling and scratching at the ground, horses’ hooves thudding on the mud, sending a heart-like beat running through the land. The fox can feel the slamming power of the legs and knows it’s hopeless, though still clings to her life, thinking of her vulnerable baby. Slowly, the fox races nearer and nearer to the trees and sanctuary of the dark wood, but the beagles are close on her tail, seemingly getting faster and faster until they are nearly within biting distance of the poor fox. The trees come looming up in front of the fox, her baby cries out for her from the prison of his bush, the dogs snap menacingly at her tail, the horses’ stampede shakes the very forest and the joyful calls of laughter from the humans gives the hell of the night its final touches.
Suddenly, the mother slips on a large patch of mud, and falls five meters short of the wood. She is submerged by dogs, biting any part they can reach, killing her. She screams out a final scream of terror and pain before dying in a fit of blood and anger. From his bush, her baby watches, a soft whine hardening his throat, paws shaking with grief. He lies his head down on the earth, and listens to the gasping laughs from the humans and the savage grunts of the dogs, to the sound of death. Slowly, he closes his eyes and places a tiny paw over his head, shielding himself from the evil. He will never move from that spot again. The sunset in the horizon is tinged with a sickening blood red as the day ends on the note of disaster, the storm cloud floats drearily over the land and a stroke of thunder pierces the night, and all of the forest’s creatures hang their heads in the silent mourning of the loss of a mother and her pup.
Is this what makes Britain great? Do you truly believe that such bloodshed can be viewed as a sport? Say ‘NO!’ to fox hunting in Britain, and any other country that takes part in it. Say ‘NO!’ to death.
