A wounded fox snarls and bares its teeth from inside a cage as a woman approaches.
Nicki Townsend, calm and unfazed, gently soothes the animal. Dressed casually and wearing only rubber gloves, she carefully covers the fox’s head with a towel, lifts it by the scruff, and transfers its injured body to a clean enclosure.
Though this isn’t her usual morning routine, fox rescue work is anything but predictable.
“You never know what you’re walking into,” Townsend explains.
While they may not be as iconic as red buses or phone booths, red foxes are a common sight in London. Navigating urban life in gardens, alleys, and busy streets comes with risks — and when they're in trouble, a dedicated rescue service steps in. Townsend is often the one behind the wheel.
Rather than invading, foxes moved into the city gradually, following the spread of London into their natural habitat starting in the 1930s.
A Divisive Presence
Not everyone welcomes them. While many Londoners enjoy spotting foxes on their evening walks or sunbathing in yards, others see them as nuisances — leaving droppings, rummaging through trash, and howling eerily during mating season.
“It’s like Marmite,” Townsend says, comparing the public’s feelings to the love-it-or-hate-it food spread. “You’re either for them or against them.”
This public divide inspired Trevor Williams to start The Fox Project about 35 years ago. Formerly a rock musician who campaigned against fox hunting, Williams turned his attention to urban foxes, who were often killed due to misunderstandings and myths.
“People still believe foxes will bite babies, eat pets, or steal your husband,” he jokes.
What started as an awareness campaign now rescues around 1,400 foxes annually — including 400 cubs, though only half survive to release.
City Life: Both a Buffet and a Battlefield
London is home to roughly 15,000 foxes. The Fox Project covers parts of South London and nearby suburbs, while other groups serve different areas.
Urban foxes feed on everything from bugs and rodents to human leftovers, becoming reliant on handouts. But city living brings hazards — cars, soccer nets, tight gaps, and mange infections are constant threats.
Townsend drives her VW Caddy through the city and countryside, answering calls about sick or injured foxes, including orphaned cubs.
Her first rescue attempt, two and a half years ago, didn’t go as planned: the injured fox she approached simply ran away.
“Inexperienced as I was, I chased him,” she laughs. “He was gone in seconds, and I looked ridiculous.”
Despite such setbacks — and even once rescuing a fox stuck upside-down in a fence — she’s only been bitten once.
Heartbreak and Hope
Her van often smells strongly of foxes — especially when nervous cubs have accidents during transport. Townsend is used to it.
“You can open a window if you want,” she says with a smile. “This job gets smelly.”
On a recent call, she met a couple who found a wounded cub in their garden. At first, they thought it was just sleeping.
“But when he didn’t move, we knew something was wrong,” said Charlotte English.
Unfortunately, that cub didn’t survive — nor did the adult fox Townsend picked up earlier that day.
Surviving cubs are grouped in fives to socialize before being released into rural areas. Adults are typically returned to the neighborhoods they came from.
No Thanks Required
Released foxes aren’t tracked, so their long-term survival is uncertain. A 2016 study in Applied Animal Behaviour Science showed that rehabilitated foxes often roam far from their release sites, increasing their risk of harm.
“There’s a knowledge gap,” says Bryony Tolhurst of the University of Brighton. “We assume they do well post-release, but that needs more scrutiny.”
Despite the losses, Townsend finds joy in seeing healthy foxes return to the wild — especially the moments when a fox looks back.
“People say they’re saying ‘thank you,’” she says. “But really, they’re just making sure we’re not following them.”