There are some stories that just need telling! Such as today’s one, which is a look at how a fox can infiltrate the Moon and undo the damage of those FAKE ones from the 1960s.

Good timing, then, as it seems NASA wants to go back up there. If it does so, there’s a chance the astronauts will run into one lone fox out there on an existential voyage of self-discovery.

Exploring Solitude With One Fennec Fox and 1,000s of Space Rocks

Synopsis: A lonesome fennec fox on the Moon explores the desolate landscape, turning rocks into friends whilst aspiring to become the universe’s first cosmic poet.

Cast:

• One fennec fox 🦊
• Various space rocks 🪨

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I do find it curious watching the Earth rise. I know back home they’re all there, my fennec clan, digging burrows and chasing after rabbits. Then here’s me, stuck up here on the Moon, staring on down at life from a chamber of dust and rocks. They’re my new friends. There’s a big bunch of rocks I’m on good terms with:

• Sandra
• Derek
• Keven
• Zarah
• Art
• John
• Mike
• Miyu
• Rupert

Thousands, really, so I do forget some of their names. Then there’s the dust up here, which I treat as a single entity. Moon dust! It’s one being and, although the stuff itches and gets in my eyes, it’s kind of like having an annoying best friend who plays pranks on you.

My clan back on Earth probably miss me.

They’re no doubt wondering where I am. If they knew I was on the Moon they’d wonder how I got up here. For the record, I have no idea. One morning I woke up and here I am. Not that I’m sure how long I’ve even been here. It may have been hundreds or more years. Has it just been months!? Is my clan even still alive?!

Am I the eternal fennec fox here to preside over the Earth and watch as, at some point in the distant future, some massive rock whacks into it?

Deeper philosophical rambling isn’t really for me, so I keep myself busy by touring around the Moon. I’ve got a really great burrow I’ve dug for myself with loads of tunnels and a nice sleeping chamber. It’s all for me, too, which is great!

The diet isn’t so good, but I’ve become accustomed to eating space rocks. They’re gross, but seem to provide enough nourishment to keep me alive. I’ve also mastered the art of pottering, which I do across various mountain rises and meteorite sites. The Moon may be a tad boring, but it’s my home and I’ve written this little poem about it that I sing on lazy days whilst trotting across from the Copernicus Crater over to the Sea of Vapors, Serenity, and Tranquillity. The poem goes like this.

Hot to trot is this Moon of dust,
I’m certain of it with all my trust,
One day the men may well come,
And if they do I’ll bite them on the bum.

That’s just a joke, though, because if the NASA astronauts (or Russian cosmonauts) ever come back I’ll get them to take me home (maybe).

No sign of them yet.

I did scrawl out a massive SOS on the surface in my first days up here, but it’s been ages so I decided to scrub that out rather than freak out any amateur astronomers back on Earth. They may well panic if they see a giant SOS with a lone fox bounding around it. Can you imagine? “Oh, gawd, what have I been drinking!?” kind of reaction.

No, I’m fine with my fate. It doesn’t matter now, I’m middle-aged as it is. Whether the people come and take me home or not, I care not a jot (see, I’m good at this rhyming stuff).

Just as well I’m an inward-looking kind of fennec fox.

It’s peaceful up here and there haven’t been any alien invasions or anything. I’ve had a super thorough look around, I can assure you, and there are zero signs of any life up here. Other than the rocks. They talk to me and say funny things. Zarah was my closest rock friend. She’s got a weird sense of humour and keeps winding me up.

“Aren’t you a little funny looking for a fox?!” She jibes.

“Well, I’m a fennec fox, Zarah, so we look a little different to the more stereotypical image of a fox in urban and rural environments.”

Then she says I’m “silly” and starts singing pop songs and I wonder how she knows them when she’s up here and probably hasn’t heard them ever before. Plus, she’s a rock! And I remembered that and the next time she was making jabs at me I said to her.

“You’re a rock, how do you know all these hit singles?!”

She told me to mind my own business, then said my ears are kind of funny looking, and then said I need to lose some weight! Those remarks forced me to revisit my “best friend” status with Zarah. I started spending more time hanging out with Derek and Keven who are more relaxed. They’ve got my attitude to life, really. They were brought here by an ancient meteorite that slammed into the Moon about 150 million years ago. They’ve been sitting here ever since enjoying the free views.

Derek is a conspiracy theorist, which is one downside. Even though he witnessed the Moon landing in 1969 he still insists NASA faked it. Whenever he brings it up, which is often, Keven and I change the topic as fast as possible. We often sing songs together and we’re thinking of putting an album together called Moon Dust. It’ll have a folksy, Bob Dylan type of vibe with me singing—I have a fine, shrill, shrieking set of vocals that you’d probably class as a falsetto.

That’s one project that’s keeping me busy at the moment. I’m also thinking of extending my sleeping quarters into a fancy en suite. Maybe introduce a games room? Or a swimming pool? There’s no water up here, but I can fill the pool with dust and swim about in that. I’ll need to fashion some goggles together out of rocks so as to protect my eyes. That will mean murdering some of my rock friends for the goggles, so I’ll have to choose wisely who has to cop it.

I’ll consult with the dust.

Because the dust on this planet has a mysterious way about it. Not quite alive, but not really dead, not quite a friend, but maybe not an enemy. It’s an acquaintance, I suppose, but one whom rarely indulges any pertinent information in my direction.

I can understand why. In the billions of years this has all been here, the stuff on the Moon hasn’t had to put up with a fennec fox trotting about the place. It shouldn’t feel the need to engage with me. After all, I’m not sure how long I’ll last here, or if this is an infinity thing where I hang out forever more, but I still consider myself as a cosmic visitor to this dusty abode.

It’s a home away from home. A writer’s retreat. I’ve penned some of my best poetry out here and I can recommend it for future generations. The view alone is enough to destroy any writer’s block! Get yourself a space rock if you can, poets, for this fennec fox has found the perfect formula for existing without complaint.