The quick and the dead

It might just be me, but this must be the only country where , as you go about your lawful business, in this case stopping your mad cow hassling walkers (she jumped out and was keen to share their picnic, the fact that they were carrying it in their rucksacks and didn't want to share with a mental bovine was beside the point) that you can observe a large body of armed men suddenly silhouetted against the skyline and advance purposefully towards you and not feel like your world is about to end, take cover and hope that either they pass peacefully or that they don't find you to discuss their political or religious views.

So there I was, unarmed aside from a Nikon and a large number of dogs, and there up on the Bonsai Mountain were at least half a platoon of camouflaged gun toting men advancing on our house. The dogs being the brave sort sought shelter behind me, I stood and watched what was going on. A red streak went left to right, a gun was pointed in its direction, I did clench slightly as its direction was me, the red streak disappeared into the gorse over the brow, two shots, a wave and the men walked on. I did the same, towards the shots as this was home.

A man who looked like a mercenary was stood in our lane, he looked like an extra from Full Metal Jacket who had had a fight with a pirate, all camo, gold teeth and earrings, rifle cradled across his chest.

He pointed to the fence line, a dead adult fox.

"Theres two more up behind the house in that gully bit" pointing over his shoulder with a gloved thumb. He turned and began walking after the others, "We got four so far, this hills crawling with them, don't normally come out this far, we'll be back" and off he went into the sunset. (really he did)

So our birds can sleep safely, or a bit more safely, four less foxes (at least) one was probably the culprit who took a hen this week, in broad daylight. Perhaps two of them were the ones play fighting by our sheep two weeks ago, either way I'm glad they are gone. We are, to say the least, over run by Mr Fox.

Day 17 30 30 lvl 12 outdoor training 13.1km (Jazz, Queen)

Here we go again

I got back late tonight, as I turned Vic to home I was thinking about foxes, and one that I had helped to the celestial chicken coop when I chanced upon it in our lane. Vic crawled along our dirt track, his suspension cant take the deep potholes at anything other than walking pace and the sheep refuse to give up their sleeping spaces until gently nudged by the muddy Volvo so we were looking out for dozy Ryelands. There sitting in almost exactly the same spot where I had dispatched the fox were two more, sniffing the air and watching our slow progress. A late patrol of the perimeter ensued, all poultry was accounted for but its clear we are still under siege.

Caught napping

It was a combination of things, joking with a neighbour about foxes, any trouble with foxes the innocent enquiry, trouble!! I listed their crimes against poultry adding the obligatory oh you never have your gun when you see them type banter, the its about time the vixens came out with their cubs the knowledgeable reply. Maybe the fact that the dogs are confined to barracks tonight as we have a VIP guest Berner, Elsa, to visit Rocky the love machine, so no distractions please! Or my working late so not turning on the anti aircraft lights and being 30 or so minutes later than usual doing my final perimeter security check shutting the poultry away.
Whatever it was we were like William in the above pic, caught napping. Signs that all was Pete Tong began with two runner ducks passing me, still running, the poultry house door was shut, not good if you want the birds to go to bed. The realisation that all the birds are missing and you are knee deep in feathers and the evil red glow of the predators eyes caught in the torchlight. Fast as a fat bloke can run in unlaced boots the armoury was unlocked, with Mr Beretta locked and loaded we go back out. The red pin pricks of light a little further away but oozing confidence that come what may it is going to survive this encounter, unlike the bird it was dragging away. I got within killing range but hands full of ten trillion candle power torch and shotgun would have meant a clumsy shot, and with my capacity for self harm that is not a good scenario. So rather than alert the fox to the new firepower I restrained myself and ignored the pull the trigger to see what happens voices and left foxy to it. Foxy now associates torch light with loud unhealthy wheezing sounds so wont be worried and should it stray into the field of illumination when I am better prepared I am hoping the last thing to pass through its mind is several hundred high velocity metal pellets.

Killer in our midst!

We adjourned form our busy day just as it was getting dark, a very productive day at Rock HQ saw progress in the garden, Rene got cleaned for the first time in one year of ownership, all the animals were cleaned out and brushed/groomed/fussed. Poppy pictured above caught a Lion sneaking up on the horses. The pigs had a wild time running around the garden before being spotted when they high tailed it back to the pen and tried to eat my boots as we had a bonding session. We were asked the other day how our animals are so friendly and get on so well. Well they have to, we haven't the time or resources to solve disputes so they all bump along nicely and all come to us when called. Well usually, Trevor bucked the trend and demonstrated more Houdini skills jumping fences and racing round to the Technohermits pad. Trevor is not the only one to be sensing spring at Rock HQ, trying to mount Tracey as she filled the water buckets was definitely a bad move on his part, she is thinking of booking the vet to geld him and quell his amorous advances.

Back to the point, killer in our midst, we had finished for the day and the two punctures in the wheelbarrow wheel were fading into minor irritations as we reflected on the progress made. Delicious smells of a rabbit poaching on the rayburn added to the indicators that the day was over as far as work was concerned. But as any smallholder will tell you, you never finish, you just run out of time or energy or daylight. So while we had a a well earned cuppa planning future days, how the garden is going to be laid out and so on,Tracey heard something and told me to shush. Chickens. Noisy frightened chickens.

The only job left was to shut the birds away and as we came into the cottage just as it was getting dark there were still a few diehards wandering around refusing to go to bed. Experience has taught us not to try and get them to go to bed early, the more you try to get the last few to their roost the more come out to see whats going on. Our battle with the foxes of the hill continues, last Thursday night I got a few blank shots off against two dog foxes fighting over a vixen in the field opposite the cottage. For a few weeks now we haven't lost a bird.



The ominous sounds outside convinced us one or more of the birds was under attack. Tracey got outside quicker than I and was confronted by a sea of white feathers in the yard, to her left between the stable and house the sounds of a chicken in distress. Tracey went towards the sound and in the torchlight found one of the white hens horribly injured against the fence. Despite deep wounds it was still alive and a trail of feathers led from the hen house some fifty yards away to its current position. She was lucky, whatever it was that was going to eat her had missed its chance. Sat watching just few feet away from the critically injured hen was Kitler.

Kitler is a feral cat we always feed when we see him. Called Kitler because the black patch on his white fur on his head looks like Hitlers hairdo thus he is named Kitler.

We have always wondered how he is so fat. Until tonight we assumed he had more than his fair share of rabbits on the hill and that his diet was supplemented by a few soft touches like ourselves.

But the feathers were a giveaway. Kitler is a chicken killer.

Luckily for Kitler the only thing to hand was a plastic food scoop which totally lacks aerodynamic properties but somehow managed to hit the smug cat as I threw it across the yard.

Kitler will now be treated the same as foxes. No more free breakfasts.