It is very early in the morning and Kenya’s Masai Mara National Reserve has not yet relinquished its black and star-embellished sky to the sun. I am racing or, more accurately, moving

as fast as I can (an aged tortoise would have no trouble keeping up) as I try to retrace my path from the previous day. Confusion sets in when the tracks I am following lead into something resembling a railway junction as the markings of tourist vehicles cross in every direction, betraying the site of yesterday’s lion action. As I navigate my way through the mess, lights that appear to flicker across the plain are revealed as the eyes of dainty impalas and, through the dust, the face of a blood-soaked hyaena appears as it

feasts on yet another wildebeest carcass. These are just a few of the fascinating and thrilling scenes that the Mara offers every morning, but they’re not what I’m tracking today.

All is quiet when I arrive at the bat-eared fox den. The male is curled up about two metres from one of the entrances, seemingly asleep, but in fact very alert. His ears flatten submissively as I approach, but he is used to the chugging of the Land Cruiser by now and any signs of fear quickly subside once the engine is silenced. I wait. Just as the first splashes of orange stain the sky, four cubs erupt from the den, tumbling over each other in their rush to greet the female, whose stealthy arrival is shattered as her offspring

41W W W. A F R I C A G E O G R A P H I C . C O M

TEXT & PHOTOGRAPHS

BY CHERYL- SAMANTHA OWEN HOLE

Amid the hustle and bustle of the East African wilde-beest migration, zoologist Cheryl-Samantha Owen was distracted by the antics of a family of bat-eared foxes. Having overheard a passing 4x4-load of tourists refer to them as ‘baby jackals’, she became determined to give these diminutive members of the dog family a share of the limelight.

CAPERSFOX

Ut pratet vent nim zzrit at. Gue del eum ing exero exercing ex euguero duipisi eugiamc onsectet, sed tat et amet, verciniam quamcon sequis autatio odiamco nsectem zzrit

join the dawn chorus with soft mews. While she stands, energised from a night of foraging, they scramble for a good position from which to suckle. Bat-eared foxes don’t regurgitate part of their insect meals for cubs, rather mothers eat an extra helping to provide enough milk for their young.

These cubs are tiny balls of fur and with their still-small ears they remind me more of kittens than members of the dog family to which they belong. Born in a den, cubs open their eyes at nine days old and emerge from the safety of the lair at about two-and-a-half weeks. Judging from the generous amount of grey underfur and adult colouration, these four are about four weeks old and will suckle for another 11 weeks or so before they are weaned. Their path to maturity is relatively short and when they are two or three months old – and almost grown – they will join their parents on foraging excursions. For the moment, their adventures are small and functional – the tunnels and chambers of the den (probably the original excavations of a warthog or springhare) are kept clean and I often saw one cub move away from the others for a quick toilet break.

In East Africa bat-eared foxes have a much lower profile than in southern Africa, where they are often seen wandering through farmlands or

playing with death on South African and Namibian roads. In Kenya, they tend to be confined to protected areas, yet they are often overlooked by visitors intent on finding larger predators or keen to get back to their comfortable lodges. I was not in the Mara on any official research project, but when I came across this family group, it become surprisingly easy to rise at 04h30 every morning and make my way to the den, camera in hand, in the hope of producing some images that would give these ‘baby jackals’ (as one tourist called them) a shot at the limelight.

So it was by design, not accident, that I found myself lying on my stomach underneath the Land Cruiser with oil dripping down my back, wildebeest scats stuck to my elbows and a line of ants surrounding me in preparation for an attack. But, being on the ground afforded me a fox-eye view, a far better vantage point than the relative comfort of sipping coffee and eating biscuits in the seat above. Getting down and dirty in plain view earlier, however, hadn’t

worked – the cubs disappeared down an escape tunnel and their parents fled into the distance. I left the den in peace and watched from further away as seconds turned into minutes and minutes turned into half an hour. Despite the knowledge that the adult pair would not abandon their cubs, I started to worry. By the time they returned, I had decided to make my human form as unobtrusive as possible and, to the best of my ability, merge with the car.

This morning, like all the other mornings, the cubs stayed outside after they had fed, huddling together for added warmth, while their mother waited for the sun and an opportunity to bask. The youngsters all seemed to have distinct characters and one in particular showed an independent streak, lounging about outside after all the others had disappeared below for safety and stray-ing the furthest from the den. It also investigated me the most closely – a little too closely sometimes, as it always

42 A F R I C A G E O G R A P H I C • A U G U S T 2 0 0 6

noticed when I took off my thick coat (de rigueur for the early morning under-the-car shift) or I altered my position and and often alerted the adults.

The other cubs, however, weren’t interested in me and continued their nibble-grooming or playing. And did they play – bobbing and prancing in front of one another, nipping at haunches and attacking tails. Vegetation was another source of amusement and one small plant outside the den was constantly battered by little forefeet and inquisitive noses. Playing sessions were cut short only by the cries of raptors above, the sounds of passing game, or when the sun grew too fierce and the family retreated below ground for its main rest period.

Although it is most active at night, the bat-eared fox’s greatest threat comes from diurnal birds of prey. And, at an average weight of just

over three kilograms, it should be easy

43W W W. A F R I C A G E O G R A P H I C . C O M

FAST FACTSBAT-EARED FOX Otocycon megalotis An ancient canid that is genetically and morphologically distinct from all other foxes.

Length47 to 58 centimetres.

WeightThree to four-and-a-half kilograms.

HabitatA permanent pair forms the basic social unit. After a 60-day gestation, the female gives birth to up to six cubs in a burrow modified or dug by the two adults. The cubs are born blind and helpless but reach maturity within four months.

AdaptationsThese foxes have between 46 and 50 teeth, the highest number known for any non-marsupial land mammal. This unusual dentition is used for slicing and dicing termites and other hard-shelled insects with pincers. A special muscle attachment at the back of the jaw (the digastric muscle) allows the fox to chew up to five times per second. Outsized ears (up to 12 centimetres long) enable the foxes to pick up sounds of underground prey.

DietTermites, especially harvester termites, beetles and other invertebrates form the bulk of their diet (they are the only canids that have largely abandoned mammalian prey). Dense fur protects them from the bites of the soldier termites.

Ut pratet vent nim zzrit at. Gue del eum ing exero exercing ex euguero duipisi eugiamc onsectet, sed tat et amet, verciniam quamcon sequis autatio

Ut pratet vent nim zzrit at. Gue del eum ing exero exercing ex euguero duipisi eugiamc onsectet, sed tat et amet, verciniam quamcon sequis autatio

pickings for the Mara’s sizeable raptor population. However, one morning, I was lucky enough to witness the sidestep strategy that keeps these nimble foxes alive (and would be the envy of every rugby player). The cubs were lying in the open when a vulture swooped down to the den just above the top entrance. They bolted down the nearest holes before I could blink, while the mother took off, zigzagging her way across the plains, changing directions at full speed with a flick of her tail. Bat-eared foxes can pivot on their forefeet, a technique developed precisely for flights such as these when they are either quick-footed or dead. The vulture was not prepared for this burst of activity and I am sure that these manoeuvres could outwit the sharpest of eagles.

Late one afternoon, the family had just emerged from the den and were greeting one another, touching noses and sniffing, when the ground started to vibrate with the impact of hundreds of hooves on the move. The wildebeest migration was still underway and the grasslands were teaming with these odd-looking beasts. I moved my legs in line with the car, suddenly feeling a bit exposed as I was sure that the next shape to gallop by would be more

44 A F R I C A G E O G R A P H I C • A U G U S T 2 0 0 6

predator-like. Sure enough, in the dust cloud that remained, the old hyaena appeared again. The cubs were long gone but surprisingly, the adults did very little, bar flattening themselves against the ground and lying completely still. As it turned out, there were two hyaena dens within an extra long stone’s throw from the foxes and passing hyaenas were a common occurrence. Neither party appeared to be in the least bit interested in the other.

As the day retreated, I too withdrew and the female embarked on her nightly foraging expedition. Bat-eared foxes search for food separately and this female would probably hunt until the early hours of the morning, targeting anything from mice to scorpions, although safari ants and termites form the bulk of the foxes’ diet. Proportionally, the bat-eared fox has the second largest ears of all the foxes (only the fennec’s are larger) and it is during these expeditions that these highly adapted antennae come

into their own. During the day, I had watched as the adults foraged around the den, turning their heads and fixing these finely tuned satellite dishes to the exact spot where beetle larvae lay buried, then using their long claws to dig them out, or accurately pinpointing the hiding place of a grasshopper and catching it with a bound reminiscent of their insect prey.

It’s completely dark now and, letting the car steer itself towards my own canvas burrow, I feel the wind on my face through open windows (Actually, they don’t wind up) and try to commit the calls of the bush to memory, holding onto the timeless feeling that hangs in the air. Spending a day at grazed grass level may mean coming up smelling less than rosy with blotchy red bite marks and big clumps of greasy hair, but watching bat-eared foxes go about their business in the midst of the migration action is as entertaining as any predator–prey drama, and I defy anyone to resist their charms.

45W W W. A F R I C A G E O G R A P H I C . C O M

the adults foraged around the den, turning their heads and fixing these finely tuned satellite dishes to the exact spot where beetle larvae lay buried

Ut pratet vent nim zzrit at. Gue del eum ing exero exercing ex euguero duipisi eugiamc onsectet, sed tat et amet, verciniam quamcon sequis autatio

Ut pratet vent nim zzrit at. Gue del eum ing exero exercing ex euguero duipisi eugiamc onsectet, sed tat et amet, verciniam quamcon sequis autatio

Ut pratet vent nim zzrit at. Gue del eum ing exero exercing ex euguero duipisi eugiamc onsectet, sed tat et amet, verciniam quamcon sequis autatio

Zoologist Cheryl-Samantha Owen has completed her Masters degree and has turned her attention to photojournalism.