We have a rather handsome fox living at the end of the garden. He played with a packet of Sainsbury’s muesli, bounced around, spraying it everywhere, then brought in a couple of incontinence pads to play with. Not quite so amusing, but he still looked fabulous, until last week, when he appeared just outside the french windows looking ghastly. A mangy wreck. So, my plan is to put out a bit of dog food regularly, then he’ll learn to come along in time for his dinner, which I can then put medicine in, and he’ll recover. Hopefully.
“That’s terrible,” shouts Rosemary. “You mustn’t do it. They are vermin!”
No they are not, but foxes have form with Rosemary. They stole her neighbour’s knickers, which were drying on the railings, and played with them; they came boldly into her house, unpacked a visitor’s open suitcase, climbed into the kitchen sink and licked the washing up, woke Rosemary when she was snoozing in the garden by licking her toes, and tried to dig up her dead cat. So she is browned off with them, but have they harmed her? No. She should have kept her doors and windows shut and done her washing up promptly. I have no sympathy, so my plan has started. If we are to have foxes, they may as well be healthy.
I’m a bit sick of us culling, gassing and generally wiping out anything that’s a bit of a nuisance. By the time we’ve finished, it will be goodbye ecosytem and we’ll be doomed. Remember, fox-haters, that they very rarely do anything dreadful, they only scream for a couple of weeks a year, around now, while mating, and they kill rats and mice. What would you prefer? A plague of rats? Just lock up your guinea pigs and pet bunnies carefully.
Suprisingly, Fielding is fond of foxes, although they also dug up his dead cat. Three times. “They’re far more attractive than your dog ... But that wouldn’t be difficult, would it?” Friends? Why bother? Is it any wonder that I turn to dogs and foxes?
