___ A Historic My rear-wheel-drive vehicle fishtailed a bit while swinging into Kyle's driveway. The headlights illuminated a few inches of snow that had fallen during the half-light of dusk. Now completely dark, the snowfall had ceased. The air had turned crisp and the breeze was drifting to stillness. It would be a great night for fox hunting. Hoping the weather would hold, I kicked the snow from my boots and pressed the doorbell. The old white farmhouse door creaked and I exchanged greetings with Kyle and his wife. Kyle and I had hunted foxes at 26 night many times before, and I knew he'd be ready to go. We quickly loaded our hunting gear into his SUV. "It's a perfect night for gray foxes," Kyle remarked. "Gray foxes? We're going after grays?" I asked in surprise. "I've spent a full year scouting gray colonies and figuring how to get to them," Kyle responded, cracking a big grin. "I have permission from enough landowners to make a good night of it." It seemed certain we'd be bringing home some fur that night.