He is an ex Turkey

Terry has bought the big one.

Despite the fact that two foxes have been killed in the last 48 hours within five hundred metres of Rock HQ we have suffered yet another casualty in our battle against the fox.

This time it took on Terry a forty pound Turkey with a killer attitude to back up his vast proportions.

I was stood making my early morning cuppa looking out of the kitchen window wondering what was wrong with the view. The dirt bank under the cliff is usually awash with flowers, as I looked I could see the flowers were all crushed and broken, brown feathers in large clumps adorned the freshly exposed grass and torn up soil.

I slowly realised that a life or death struggle had taken place within two feet of the kitchen window. I leant over the sink and looked further along the bank and saw the mortal remains on the mighty Terrance. Too big to cart off the fox had eaten the majority of Terry was devoured in situ, including his head, leaving the legs and wings untouched. The way he was positioned on the ground it looked like he had not survived the most horrific crash landing, wings spread out, legs sticking in the air giving the distinct impression that half of him was buried in the dirt of the bank.

Like Terry I was gutted at this fresh attack, you have to wonder how many foxes there are around us if the two kills have so little impact on their attacks on the poultry. Given the awesome size of this brute Turkey you have to speculate on the size or mental state of the killer fox involved. It’s hard to comprehend that we all slept through this attack, Terry was a noisy squawky bird when calm, however the fox managed to press home the attack without rousing the occupants of Rock HQ sleeping in their beds feet away with the windows open we shall never know.

We have lambs smaller than Terry, are they at risk from this type predation as well? I am also cross with myself for not making Terry comply and go into the poultry shed every night, but given his size and attitude he chose where to sleep at night time and God help you if you tried to get him down or off where ever he was. Assuming size made him safe I let him choose his perch, his favourite was halfway up a sycamore tree in the garden.

I had planned to move the fox trap almost to the very spot where he was killed last night, pictured above, so in a fantastic demonstration of shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted I dragged the cage to the first point of the attack and left it baited with dead rabbits in the vain hope that the fox will return for the rest of his Turkey dinner. Terry’s remains are currently in the workshop. I did have half a plan to do a Turkey drumstick stir fry for dinner tonight, but I am concerned that I might get some strange disease from the fox saliva that no doubts coats much of the leftovers.

I cannot afford to turn into a werefox every full moon.

So the magnificent seven are up for some Turkey treats with their biscuits tonight.