I don't know who was more surprised, me or the fox.
I was putting the birds away so it was dark and I was alone and armed only with a torch. The dogs were in their kennels as they are a bit of a nuisance when trying to persuade geese, ducks and chickens into their houses.
Terry the Turkey is obviously suffering post traumatic stress after the fox attacks last week, he was perched in the Black Rocks house. He is so subdued he even lets you stroke him now, until last week he would have launched all thirty pound of his carcass at your face. He wasn't really aggressive but like many of the animals at Rock HQ he has a certain attitude. His was "get near me and I will kill you". Now he is seeking comfort from any source and that includes human contact, the first since he was an egg.
Tracey is so worried about his change in attitude she has contacted a Turkey dating agency on the internet and asked if they will sell us some new wives for him.
Anyway he was safe and well and tucked up for the night with the hens. I went to the other end of the smallholding to sort the rest of the poultry. We had already discovered that Apple, one of the Pekin Ducks, was missing probably victim of the fox. The birds were all accounted for except Apple. Tracey joined me by the duck house and suggested that we look for her. We both knew this would be pointless but we did it anyway. (Shes the one in the middle in the picture)
I climbed the steep bank of Willow Rise and shone the torch into the darkness of the Cauldron.
A pair of bright yellow eyes reflected back at me. There, sat under the hawthorn tree at the head of the stream in the Cauldron, sat a fox.
Typical.
No gun.
No dogs.
I shouted.
It stared at me, the eyes tinged orange, it looked quite evil.
Tracey shouted should she let the dogs out.
Yes.
The fox blinked and lazily loped along the track towards the top of our field.
Now our dogs usually when they are released from the kennels set off like unguided missiles in all directions. A sure fire way of startling the fox.
Not tonight. They all wanted to play, they stayed close by or fell at our feet. The fox looked on with yellow eyed indifference. I threw a stick in its direction to encourage the dogs to defend the farm. Poppy the retriever brought it back. I could not believe how dumb our dogs were being.
The dogs romped around the field while the fox approached our boundary. I led the charge. They took the hint and charged, straight back to the kennels.
The fox ran up North Face Gully and stood on a rock looking back, its eyes glowing in the torchbeam and then he was gone.
He will be back.
It is a war.
He is winning, he has cunning, stealth and surprise on his side.
I have a gun, and when the fox gets close enough the gun will win.
It's a dead fox walking.
I was putting the birds away so it was dark and I was alone and armed only with a torch. The dogs were in their kennels as they are a bit of a nuisance when trying to persuade geese, ducks and chickens into their houses.
Terry the Turkey is obviously suffering post traumatic stress after the fox attacks last week, he was perched in the Black Rocks house. He is so subdued he even lets you stroke him now, until last week he would have launched all thirty pound of his carcass at your face. He wasn't really aggressive but like many of the animals at Rock HQ he has a certain attitude. His was "get near me and I will kill you". Now he is seeking comfort from any source and that includes human contact, the first since he was an egg.
Tracey is so worried about his change in attitude she has contacted a Turkey dating agency on the internet and asked if they will sell us some new wives for him.
Anyway he was safe and well and tucked up for the night with the hens. I went to the other end of the smallholding to sort the rest of the poultry. We had already discovered that Apple, one of the Pekin Ducks, was missing probably victim of the fox. The birds were all accounted for except Apple. Tracey joined me by the duck house and suggested that we look for her. We both knew this would be pointless but we did it anyway. (Shes the one in the middle in the picture)
I climbed the steep bank of Willow Rise and shone the torch into the darkness of the Cauldron.
A pair of bright yellow eyes reflected back at me. There, sat under the hawthorn tree at the head of the stream in the Cauldron, sat a fox.
Typical.
No gun.
No dogs.
I shouted.
It stared at me, the eyes tinged orange, it looked quite evil.
Tracey shouted should she let the dogs out.
Yes.
The fox blinked and lazily loped along the track towards the top of our field.
Now our dogs usually when they are released from the kennels set off like unguided missiles in all directions. A sure fire way of startling the fox.
Not tonight. They all wanted to play, they stayed close by or fell at our feet. The fox looked on with yellow eyed indifference. I threw a stick in its direction to encourage the dogs to defend the farm. Poppy the retriever brought it back. I could not believe how dumb our dogs were being.
The dogs romped around the field while the fox approached our boundary. I led the charge. They took the hint and charged, straight back to the kennels.
The fox ran up North Face Gully and stood on a rock looking back, its eyes glowing in the torchbeam and then he was gone.
He will be back.
It is a war.
He is winning, he has cunning, stealth and surprise on his side.
I have a gun, and when the fox gets close enough the gun will win.
It's a dead fox walking.
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