I was still at work when there was a phone call from CC. This was unusual, he rarely called. Since it was Wednesday I was supposed to meet him at the taxi stop that evening.
    ‘I wonder if you can come to pick me up in Al Ain after work’, he said, ‘I have a surprise for you.’  I readily agreed to drive to Al Ain, relieved that his call did not cancel our short weekend together.
    When I arrived at the zoo a few hours later, CC approached carrying a large carton box.
    ‘What have you got,’ I asked, ‘another bottle baby?’
    ‘No, these are for you!’
    I peered into the box. Two tiny, creamy white faces stared up at me, four eyes and two noses like buttons of black licorice, stubby muzzles showing tiny pink tongues, fuzzy hair on the round little heads. I was instantly lost in love and admiration.
    ‘They are sand foxes, aren’t they? How did you get them?’
    ‘A guy from Saudi Arabia came to the zoo and wanted to sell them, but we have too many already in the zoo, so the director refused to take them. As we walked away from the man, I saw him pick up a large piece of wood - he wanted to bash their heads in. I rushed back and said that I knew someone who’d want them.’
    ‘How much did you have to pay him?’
    ‘Only a hundred dirhams each - less than 6o dollars,’ CC said, adding: ‘a belated Christmas gift from me to you!’
    ‘Boy, were they lucky that you were around,’ I said. ‘I am going to call them Mazzel and Tov.’
    ‘Do you think that is wise? Someone might notice that that is Hebrew!’
    ‘I bet no one ever notices. They had “mazzel tov - good luck” to be rescued, and that is how they are going to be called!’
    I was over the moon with these new additions to my private zoo. The next day we resurrected the garage as a fox home. It had been that when Gerard still lived in the house and later the young wildcats had lived there for a while. Gerard had replaced the double doors with strong small-meshed wire covering the whole front, with a wire mesh door on one side. In the back was a small den made of rocks cemented together. I removed all the suitcases and other junk that had accumulated over the past year, leaving two large metal trunks in place. Then we went to the desert and got a carload full of sacks filled with clean sand, which we spread around a few mesquite tree trunks that we salvaged from a deserted lot. It looked really nice and the foxes immediately liked their new abode.
    They had arrived a few weeks later than Sandy, and I calculated that they must be almost exactly the same age. Of course Sandy was already a lot bigger, but that did not prevent the foxes from getting excited whenever I walked by with her. When I went inside with the food bowls, Sandy came along. The foxes yapped and jumped, their voices shrill with excitement, furiously wagging their tails. Sandy stood there, wagging her tail more slowly and sniffing the cubs, then licking them gently. It was obvious that she was some sort of foster mother for the little ones.
    Fortunately they were already weaned, so we did not have a feeding problem. We were feeding the wildcats with quails and the foxes loved those too. Consequently they thrived and soon reached adult size - a little smaller than a domestic cat. For a long time they remained gangly and thin, like teenagers. When the summer came and the garage became very hot I found a way to provide them with a cooler sleeping place. The garage building included a small 2 x 4 meter room for Nambi with, adjacent to it, a toilet, still the Eastern squatting type. With Nambi's permission I built a square box of bricks covered with a thick wooden lid underneath his bed, and then broke a hole through to the garage wall. While we were at it, I also installed a shower in the toilet for Nambi. Since the foxes slept during the day and Nambi mostly at night, they did not bother each other.
    In the beginning I went into the cage very often, and the foxes became quite used to me. The male, Mazzel, was more courageous than shy little Tov. He’d come and stand up against my leg as I sat on one of the tin trunks. I usually had some dog biscuits or broken cookies with me and he soon found out where I kept them. His inquisitive little nose pushed at my pockets until I produced the desired titbits. For fun I’d hold a piece between my lips, daring him to come closer. H’d jump onto the trunk and reach up high to take the cookie from me, his cute little nose right next to mine.
    He liked being tickled under his chin, but seemed afraid of being touched on the back. I had noticed the same behaviour with the marmosets and I wondered whether it was an inborn fear of predators. In the wild, whatever preyed on these small creatures, whether it was a raptor or a mammal, would usually grab them by the neck. Even though neither the marmosets nor the foxes had ever encountered a predator, the instincts were still there.

    Sand foxes, also known as Rueppell’s fox (Vulpes rüppelli), are creatures of the sandy desert. They occur naturally in the eastern Arabian deserts, contrary to the similar but even smaller fennec fox that ranges from the North African deserts into western Saudi Arabia. They are similar in size to a domestic cat but much more slender. An adult male weighs less than two kilos. The creamy white coat is bleached to pure white at the tip of their bushy tail. Their footpads are covered with dense hair, enabling them to walk easier on soft hot sand. Their ears are enormous, functioning both as sound-gathering and heat-losing organs. They have dark “tearlines” on both sides of their nose. It has been said that these reduce the glare of the sun to the eyes.
    They communicate by using a range of sounds, from soft barks to shrill bird-like whistles. In the wild they are mostly solitary, but sometimes they form pairs or even small family groups. They live in burrows, often made by other creatures, and change dens frequently. They hunt at night, but can often be found in the early morning or late afternoon taking a sunbath near their dens. Their hunting range can be as large as 40 square km. They feed on small mammals, insects, lizards, grasses and seeds, even fruit when it is available. They can live without water for long periods of time, getting the moisture they need from their prey animals or from the morning dew. During the winter months the female can have two to four blind cubs after a gestation period of 50 days. The cubs become independent after about four months.
    CC was surprised to hear their calls, which were so bird-like. He remarked that he often heard those calls from his bedroom at night. His house was near the edge of Al Ain, close to where the huge Rub’ al -Khali (Empty Quarter) desert begins. Either their calls carried very far in the silent nights, or the foxes ventured closer to human habitation than we expected.
    One day a friend, Patrick, who worked for a wildlife research station in Abu Dhabi emirate, came to my house. As he admired my new arrivals he remarked:
    ‘When we went camping during a survey in the southern Abu Dhabi desert a few weeks ago, I saw some of these in the wild. They were amazingly tame and came right up to the camp.’
    My interest was fired immediately.
    ‘Could we go there one weekend and see them, do you think?’
    ‘Why not,’ said Patrick, ‘I am sure there are some others who would like to go camping in the Empty Quarter.’
    So a few weekends later we set off with two 4WD-vehicles, full of camping and survival gear. We drove south from Al Ain to the last town at the edge of the Rub’ al-Khali. There we took a track that led us across huge dunes. These sickle-shaped barchan dunes lie perpendicular to the prevailing wind direction. The windward side on the south-west is very steep and it is practically impossible to ascend by vehicle on that side. Camels can do it but even they prefer to find easier routes. So we were approaching this forbidding terrain from the south-east.
    Once we climbed the first dune on its more gently sloping leeward side, we were committed. Now we had to continue traversing the waves of this sand sea or be doomed to walking! At the top, our trained desert-driver stopped to survey the route. The ridge looked sharp like a knife and the sand was deep and loose. The landscape in front of us was awesome. As far as the eye could see the dunes rolled on. Nearby the patterns in the sand were clearly visible, the wind having sculpted graceful wavelets and sinuous mini-ridges. Only the valleys between the dunes showed some vegetation. Coming down the steep side of the dune was excitingly frightening. The nose of the Landrover was pointing straight down as we plunged into the abyss. I was sure the car would go “hood over wheels” the next second. Then the land levelled out and we were driving on the hard surface of packed sand of the interdune salt flat.
    Our trip continued for hours up and down the dunes, with some stretches on level ground. The lead car had a GPS system, so we knew at all times exactly where we were heading. It was late afternoon when Patrick announced that we had reached the spot where he had seen the foxes. It was in the middle of a rather wide salt flat with sparse saltbush vegetation. We lowered our weary bones from the vehicles and walked around looking for tracks or other signs, but the afternoon wind had swept the desert floor .
    We decided to pitch camp and start preparing the evening meal. It was February and the days were short. As soon as the sun had set it turned very cold. While it was still light we had gathered wood and dried camel dung for a fire. The wood came from a few huge arta bushes and a lone ghaf tree that had managed to grow quite large, even in the harsh conditions that prevailed here.
    Patrick and I left the roaring fire for a short foray with the car away from the disturbance of the camp. A powerful searchlight on top of the car picked out a hare. I had never seen a relaxed hare before. Usually you only see their backsides as they sprint off. This one sat, seemingly oblivious of the light that hid our presence, and munched the bead-like leaves of a saltbush. Then it leisurely walked over to the next bush. To my surprise it did not hop.
    Small sand geckoes moved like lightning across the flat sand and disappeared in clumps of sedges. Patrick saw an owl winging its way across the dunes, but my night blindness prevented me from seeing anything outside the circle of our search light.
    There was no sign of the sand foxes.
    Patrick and one of his colleagues set some bucket traps to catch whatever creature might fall into them during the night. We went to bed early, enveloped in down sleeping bags. I had a small pup tent and slept with my head almost outside, so I could see the glittering expanse of the starry skies above. The Milky Way looked like a bridal veil, near enough to be touched. I located the Big Dipper and by extending the short side of the wagon five times I found the brilliant North Star exactly where it ought to be. On that comforting observation I fell asleep.

    When I woke up the sky was becoming lighter in the East. As the darkness receded, pearly pink and soft gold colors painted the sky and the heavy mist that lay over the soft dunes. The light grew stronger and the mist became transparent, like the gossamer flowing robes of a dancer. This world had no limits and no sounds, light and color filled it to overflowing.
    As the golden disk of the sun rose over the horizon, the mist rose too and revealed the treasure it had carried: diamond dew drops quivered on every bush and blade, drops of life-giving liquid, precious in this arid land.  
    A Desert skunk beetle stood on the sand, with its head low to the ground and its back sticking up. Dew had gathered on its shiny black carapace and was rolling down its body to its mouth, providing the moisture it needed to survive another day. A spider’s web hung like a diamond necklace between two tussocks of desert grass, luring insects into its embrace with the promise of water.
    All around my tent, tiny foxy paw prints could be seen, right up to the place where my face had been. The sand foxes had visited, but I had not even noticed!  I recalled that another friend had told me how he woke up during a camping night to find a fox standing on his chest, checking out his face with his sensitive little nose! Obviously the foxes here were also not very shy and who knows, one could have been nose-to-nose with me!
    I was disappointed that I had slept so well.
    The traps yielded a range of small creatures: beetles, spiders and two species of geckoes. One of the geckoes was adorable (I thought) with a large head and enormous golden eyes. Its body was cream-yellow mottled with brown. It posed willingly for my photographs. Another species was only half a finger long and so thin that it was transparent - you could see its stomach and guts through the skin. They were both already known from this area, so we did not add anything to the scientific databank. Still, Patrick recorded everything in his notebooks. Even the absence of animals in an area is knowledge.
    After we had taken all the pictures we needed, we had to carry on with our trip if we wanted to get to the inhabited world again that evening. The sun started to burn, even this early in the season.
The light shimmered on the silvery salt of the sabkha between the dunes, where a few camels were browsing the salt bushes, their hind legs stained with their liquid stool. The prevalent salt bushes were those that the bedu call harm. The word “haram” can mean either unclean, forbidden, or “poor thing”. The salt water contained in the beady leaves causes diarrhea, so the word “haram” applies when a camel eats harm. From a distance the camels’ legs seemed ten feet tall, quivering stilts, standing in blue patches of water. But this was a mirage. There was no surface water in this desert.
    We were now driving for long periods of time along the flat sand between rows of dunes, heading north-west towards the coast. Suddenly the lead car stopped. Patrick pointed towards a small hill that had a crescent-shaped burrow.
    ‘I saw a Little Owl ducking into that burrow. Let’s see if there are any owl pellets. They might contain the bones of whatever small reptiles occur here.’
    Just as we started to walk towards the hill, I saw a movement over to our left. A tiny furry animal sprinted from one burrow to another.
    ‘What the hell was that?’ I asked surprised, as another appeared, running as fast as its little legs could carry it.
    ‘They’re sand fox cubs,’ exclaimed Patrick, as delighted as I was. ‘Let’s go over and see if we can get closer.’
    We crept as quietly as we could towards the burrow, taking advantage of small bushes and stands of sedge as cover. At about four meters from the burrow we dug in and waited. Before long the anxious face of the vixen appeared in the opening of the burrow. She did not see or smell us and was obviously reassured when she retreated. First one and then the other of the cubs crept outside. They stayed in the entrance and began to doze in the sunshine. Patrick and I started to take pictures, very carefully. Every time a shutter clicked, the cubs would jump a little, with unfocussed eyes, and then they’d doze off again. They were a little bit younger than Mazzel and Tov had been when they came to me. The baby fur on their little round heads and bellies was so sparse that you could see their pink skin underneath.
    Lying there in the hot sun on soft sand, watching the baby foxes, I was as happy as I had ever been in my life.

    Meanwhile, back in Dubai, Mazzel and Tov had settled into domestic bliss. By now Nambi was feeding them daily and I did not go into their cage as often. Remembering what had happened to Gerard’s menagerie when he left his dogs unsupervised, I did not allow Sandy to go inside at all. I did not think she would ever harm her friends, but I was not taking any chances. Even though their food was not coming from me any more, every time I walked towards or past their cage, the two foxes would erupt into a frenzied dance of joy, yapping and whistling. They sank their tummies down to the floor, making sinuous movements with their whole bodies and wagging their tails so fast that all you could see was a blur.
    Sometimes I went inside to take photographs. Once, I sat on the big trunk and focused on Tov as she stood nearby. I had put a second lens, my 100mm portrait lens, next to me. When Tov remained where she was, I wanted to take her portrait and groped for the other lens. Failing to find it, I looked around. The lens was nowhere to be seen. I stood up and looked on all sides of the trunk, thinking that maybe it had fallen off. Nothing. Then I noticed that Mazzel was in the sandy area at the back of the garage. I walked towards him and disturbed the sand where he had been standing - and there was the lens. Mazzel had buried his catch! I was amazed that his slender jaws could carry such a heavy weight. But then, I had also been amazed when I found out that this small predator could kill and eat desert jirds and jerboas that look far too large to fit in his mouth!
    One Sunday, when Nambi was off duty, I entered the cage with the evening meal. I had not noticed that Tov was sitting on the shelf along the wall near the door. As I opened the door, she took a flying jump over my head and ran into the garden. Within seconds she was over the garden wall, and had disappeared into the neighbour’s property. I ran after her, but could not find her any more. I was frantic.
    ‘You stupid twit,’ I blamed myself, ‘you’re never going to get her back, and someone will hurt her or she’ll get hit by a car. She does not know how to get food. Damn, what am I going to do?’
    Immediately I made flyers in English, Urdu and Arabic with a picture of Tov, asking anyone who saw her to contact me before trying to catch her. I left them at every door in an area of four blocks around the house. I handed them out at shops and at the mosque, where all the men from the neighbourhood came to pray. One of them carefully studied the flyer and then looked up at me, and asked:
    ‘Would it not be easier to keep a dog?’
    Nothing happened for a few days. I had managed to get an article into the newspaper about Tov’s disappearance. It brought some scathing reactions from people who said it served me right for keeping wild animals caged!
    Then the phone rang.
    An Indian man asked: ‘Are you the madam who lost the fox? I think it is in my garage.’ He lived just a few houses away in the street behind mine. I asked him to please keep the garage doors closed and wait until I had arrived. Then I called the vet and asked if he could come and help me catch the fox. He brought a catching net but we could not use it because the garage was chockablock with boxes and old furniture. However, Tov was so weak and exhausted that she did not resist capture and we managed to coax her into a cat-carrier without any trouble. She never tried to escape again.
    And I, having learned my lesson, added escape prevention corridors to all the cages by wiring off an extra meter in front of each cage. The outer door of these corridors had weighted pulleys on the door so that they would close automatically once you had entered and before you opened the inner door. The article in the newspaper had drawn the attention of the Sheikh of Sharjah, with whom I was in regular contact about a Desert Park that he wanted to create. He told me that he had always wanted to have some sand foxes. That put me in a quandary, for in Arabia you are expected to give a person any object of yours that this person expresses a desire or admiration for. I did not want to give my foxes away, mainly because I was not sure that they would be properly taken care of by anyone else.
    I plucked up my courage and told the Sheikh:
    ‘I know I should give these sand foxes to you, Your Highness. But I have a problem, which you as a family man will understand, I think. I have no children and my animals are my children, they are my family. I cannot give them away.’
    The Sheikh said nothing but did not ask for them again.

    Mazzel and Tov were among the first inhabitants of the Breeding Centre for Endangered Arabian Animals that was established several years later. They lived to the ripe old age of 16 years and no one ever commented on their names!