Foxes

I love 'em.

Apologies to anyone who has lost chickens to the little buggers. No apologies to anyone who thinks it's appropriate to dress up in silly clothes and kill them for the fun of it.

Some of you probably have cubs in your urban back gardens about now. Enjoy. There were 14 cubs under our neighbour's shed in Tooting one Spring, and they used to come out in the evening for their nightly grand steeplechase over and through our small box hedging. Anne actually befriended the one vixen who lived a few years, and called her Lillian. She used to follow Anne round the garden and used to play with our cats.

Strangely I hardly ever see a fox up here. But when I do they are so proper foxy - full of colour and bushy-tailed, as opposed to the grey mange-ridden scroungers of London and Bristol - that it's even more of a treat.

(I had a horrible feeling writing this that I'd already praised the fox, but I've just checked the blog and I don't appear to have done so.)

.