I listened intently, letting the sounds of the night wash over me. The crickets chirping and leaves shifting with the wind was muddled with the sound of a barking dog. I could tell by the low and raspy tones that it was the Higgens’ Great Dane. His voice, like thunder, echoed through my valley, glancing off the cliff that overlooked the farmland.

I stood on the edge of the porch under a flickering bulb. Moths dinged against the hot white light. Occasionally one unfortunate insect would spin away, falling to the wooden boards below, burned to death. I cast a glance back into the sleeping house, ensuring that I was unseen, before stepping out under clouded sky.

I stole through the darkness, my frame tall and lean. The silent padding of my feet as I slunk through the forest was all but inaudible.

Without warning, the fickle summer breeze shifted, blowing the clouds across the sky. My sense of smell exploded as the clouds pulled away, revealing the moon. Craters and mountains washed with blood, tatted with gold, cast an ethereal glow on my skin.

An electrifying shock flowed through my bones. I dropped to the ground in ecstasy of change. My skin and bones bent and twisted, reknitting and melting into something new.

The path to the chicken coop wound through the forest, barely visible through the dense trees. Above me, a barn owl screech grated my pointed ears, its harsh rasp freezing the field mice in their steps. I could hear them shivering, their tails twitching in the dry grass.

Ignoring the temptation to pounce and snip their feet, I plodded through brush. My legs moved swiftly, carrying my body straight and low in a quick trot. The forest moved around me as I glided along the trail. I could sense the tiny eyes that shone through the thicket, and the screech of bats as they veered through the trees.

The forest began to thin, and I could smell chicken excrement and horse sweat. I lowered myself to the ground and padded forward. The night lay sprawled and curled around me. The darkness of her hair, and the harvest moon on her lips; she encompassed me. I slipped through her fingers like sand and made my way through her inky black locks.

When I reached the coop, I slid through a crack under the feeder. My hair was mussed with hay. The smell of the birds flooded my nose. I sniffed their soft feathers as they slept. The motherly birds sat peacefully, their bellies soft and full. I could hear them dreaming of corn and scraps.

Cooo… Cooo… Mrs. Higgens will bring a bowl of scraps.

I hid my eggs well. Cooo… Cooo… My chicks will taste the corn.

Though I was here to snap their necks, eat their breasts, and tear the unborn eggs from their stomachs, I loved these fat hens.

My teeth grazed their feathers, and my thin whiskers tickled their scaled feet. I sniffed each bird as if kissing a lover to sleep. The one I chose that night was speckled golden orange, like the fur that covered my body. I snapped my teeth across her sensuously curved neck, and felt the crack of her delicate bones under my teeth. The hen’s wings flapped against the hay and a hiss of air escaped her lungs. I waited for her muscles to relax before slipping back out the crack in the floor.

“Fox!”

The Great Dane stood several feet away, fully awake. He was a large animal with pointedly cropped ear. His fur was inky black from nose to tail. The beast’s eyes were steel blue and piercing.

”What have you done, Fox?”

He was a large black dog with a mouth full of teeth longer than my human thumb. He was much too close to outrun. It would be an awful mess if I had to change in the Higgens’ yard. Hello Miss Higgens, I found this bird. Do you have any trousers?

I carefully laid the bird aside and sat on my haunches.

“You’ve got a quite the farm. They have such a good dog watching this place,” I said.

The Great Dane was always one for flattery. His chest swelled with pride and his thick black tail slapped the dirt.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I’ll be sure to bite the back of your neck just below the skull so it won’t hurt,” he said.

“That is the best way to do it. Have you practiced much?” I asked.

His wagging stopped.

“Ah, so you haven’t killed? Or perhaps you have,” I said, “ A mouse? No, not a big hound like you.”

I smiled, “Something larger?”

His teeth chattered as I spoke.

The hound sunk to the ground and set his massive paws over his nose.

“A cat. It was a cat. I killed their cat,” he confessed.

The Higgens had chased the dog around their farm for hours when the cat was killed. The cat had been pleasant, as far as cats go. On occasion, I had run into him while hunting voles. It was a pity to have him go. The day the cat was bitten, I could hear the Higgens yelling across the valley.

You dumb mutt! I’ll skin you alive! Whack! Snap! Yelp!

For the next few days the dog had snuck around the farm, avoiding the Higgens. His tail tucked tightly behind his legs in remorse. Eventually they had forgiven the Great Dane, and the mutt returned to his obnoxious routine.

“It’s okay, I am sure the Higgens didn’t want a cat,” I said.

My cajoling was too much for the poor beast.

“Just go, Fox, the sight of you makes me sick.”

With a sigh, the dog sat up walked away.

Flashing a smug vulpine grin, I tossed the dead hen over my shoulders and slunk into the forest. Tonight I would taste the bloody breast, and lap the unborn eggs from the bowels of the hen.