Sentences with phrase «small wild fox»

Today, Two Brothers is home to the Gregory family, their chocolate lab, a small stable of gentle horses, several blue - headed parrots, small wild fox, large green iguanas, curious porcupines, chirping geckos, toads the size of footballs, moths the size of birds, and exotic rhinoceros beetles that dwarf your hand.

Not exact matches

For example, we should stop «hunting for sport or furs; farming minks, foxes and other animals for their fur; capturing wild animals (often after shooting their mothers) and imprisoning them in small cages for humans to stare at; tormenting animals to make them learn tricks for circuses, and tormenting them to make them entertain the folks at rodeos; slaughtering whales with explosive harpoons; and generally ignoring the interests of wild animals as we extend our empire of concrete and pollution over the surface of the globe» (ALNE 23).

Researchers found that when they took wild foxes and let only the tamest breed, the foxes began to develop doglike features such as curly tails, smaller heads, and floppy ears.

Soon, the Yorkie was also used to hunt down animals living in dens and burrows such as foxes, badgers and other small wild animals.

In the early years, two size types began to develop, the larger being used to hunt badgers and wild boar, while the smaller miniature type was used for foxes and hares.

Both hound types were selectively bred to hunt a wide variety of animals: Sighthounds were used to find and chase down large game such as deer, elk, moose, and wild boar; small hounds used scent to chase prey into the ground; and medium - sized hounds utilized both sight and scent for smaller game like rabbits and foxes.

, you are lying on the floor of your place looking up, a small draft runs through the room, between the door and the window, and all things seem perfectly still, wind only disturbs concrete in imperceptible ways, or it may take millions of years to be noticed and, as the air runs through the space, all your plants move and all is animated and all is alive somehow, and here are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, and that wind upon your plants is the common air that bathes the globe, and we have no ambitions of universalism, and I'm glad we don't, but the particles of air bring traces of pollen and are charged with electricity, desert sand, maybe sea water, and these particles were somewhere else before they were dragged here, and their route will not end by the door of this house, and if we tell each other stories, one can imagine that they might have been bathed by this same air, regrouped and recombined, recharged as a vehicle for sound, swirling as it moves, bringing the sound of a drum, like that Kabuki story where a fox recognizes the voice of its parents as a girl plays a drum made out of their skin, or any other event, and yet I always felt your work never tells stories, I tend to think that narrative implies a past tense, even if that past was just five seconds ago, one second ago was already the past, and human memory is irrelevant in geological time, plants and fish know not what tomorrow will bring, neither rocks nor metal do, but we all live here now, and we all need visions and we all need dreams, and as long as your metal sculptures vibrate they are always in the Present, and their past is a material truth alien to narrative, but well, maybe narrative does not imply a past tense at all and they are writing their own story while they gently move and breathe, and maybe nothing was really still before the wind came in, passing through the window as if through an irrational portal to make those plants dance, but everything was already moving and breathing in near complete silence, and if you're focused enough you can feel the pulse of a concrete wall and you can feel the tectonic movements of the earth, and you can hear the magma flowing under our feet and our bones crackling like a wild fire, and you can see the light of fireflies reflected in polished metal, and there is nothing magical about that, it is just the way things are, and sometimes we have to raise our voice because the music is too loud and let your clothes move to a powerful bass, sound waves and bright lights, powerful like the sun, blinding us if we stare for too long, but isn't it the biggest sign of love, like singing to a corn field, and all acts of kindness that are not pitiful nor utilitarian, that are truly horizontal as everything around us is impregnated with the deadliest violence, vertical and systemic, poisonous, and sometimes you just want to feel the sun burning your skin and look for life in all things declared dead, a kind of vitality that operates like corrosion, strong as the wind near the sea, transforming all things,

Feral cats, along with wild dogs and foxes, are thought to have a devastating impact on populations of small native animals in parts of the Australian bush.