There lived within a barn long ago,
Sheltered well from rain, wind and snow,
A cunning vixen with her kit,
Who kept herself both well fed and fit.

A grateful farmer had bade her stay, 
Reasoning she’d right well earned her pay,
By ridding his barn of that plague of rats,
Eating so well, she soon grew comfortable and fat.

The vixen was proud of her son’s quick wit,
His eager little mind seemed never to quit,
Until his drowsy head found his mother’s fur,
And sleep came warmly, contentedly and secure.

But as richly and happily as they lived their life,
The vixen had cause for much strain and strife.
For the hunting season was growing nigh,
And she curled ‘round her kit with a worried sigh.

She remembered much too well her poor husband’s fate,
And feared for her little one should he venture out the gate.
Among the verdant cedars, the wind carried the call of the horn,
Her signal to hide and hide fast, wait it out until the morn.

Having eaten so well and grown so plump and round,
She knew she wasn’t quite as swift a runner as those hounds.
So, gently nuzzling her pup from his cozy rest, 
She urged him to his feet as he stirred against her breast.

“Would you like to learn a new game?” she excitedly asked her little one.
“It’s really quite simple- I’ll close my eyes, count, and when I’m done,
You hide someplace in this barn where you’ll be hard to find,
An’ see if you can outfox you own mother’s crafty mind!”

Well, no sooner had his mother shut her eyes,
Than the clever kit began to theorize-
He’d seen a small hole at the bottom of the corner wall,
That was just big enough to squeeze through- if he crawled.

So through the minuscule hole and into a shed he crept,
And as he sniffed the air, the kit nearly wept.
For there filled the air a smell to send his heart a-flutter,
And that was the sweet scent of freshly churned butter.

The kit could hardly restrain his urge to feast,
Yearning to have a tiny lick at the very least.
But as soon as he’d sampled that wonderfully creamy stuff,
He knew only one taste just wouldn’t be enough.

His muzzle dove in, taking bite after bite,
Wolfing the rich treat down with desire and delight.
He squirmed with complete excitement and pleasure,
As eagerly he bolted such a rare and wonderful treasure.

Until at last his hunger was more than sated,
And he relished in the warm pleasure his full belly created.
Sensations both soft and inviting wound through his body deep,
So fat and cozy was he, the kit easily drifted off to sleep.

Meanwhile, the vixen dozed, relieved the danger had now past,
And she could lower her nervous, anxious guard at last.
Her pup had hid himself well- of that there was no doubt,
And it was only a matter of time before he’d decide to come out.

The kit awoke well rested and fit as a fiddle,
And proudly groomed his sleek, plump middle.
Feeling quite thirsty, he felt the need to go nurse,
Despite the fact he already looked as if to burst.

So out through the hole the front of him poked out,
But he failed to realize the rest of him had grown much too stout.
As much as he squeezed, sucked in and wriggled,
He remained stuck fast by his overstuffed middle.

Unable to free himself, no matter what the little kit tried, 
Despair soon consumed him, making him whimper and cry.
Tears began to soak their way into his soft ruff,
Dampening and slicking his fur’s thick fluff.

 He hung his head in shame as he continued to cry,
Quite unaware tears were now soaking his belly and sides,
When quite suddenly, to the kit’s own fascination,
Like a cork he popped free, thanks to the added lubrication.

Feeling a bit embarrassed, with only a minor bruise to his pride,
The kit waddled contentedly to the vixen’s blissfully warm side.
Both foxes abandoned all worry as evening yielded to night,
And their care and concern grew dim with the fading of the light.