While I was away Bert
had an interesting encounter with Foxy. On that day the big field had
just been cut for silage so he gathered up the .22 and headed out the
back lane to see if Foxy was out catching frogs. And sure enough,
there he was, sauntering through the freshly cut field.
Bert crouched down
behind the hedge and raised the gun. He had the vicious chicken
killer in his sights. Judy and Jess saw Foxy too, sat on their
haunches and stared at him through the five-bar gate. Foxy sat down
and gazed coolly back. And all Bert had to do was squeeze the
trigger. He waited, and waited. The dogs watched the fox and the fox
watched the dogs. He was the same dark red fox that had been in the
hen run, the same big fellow that Bert and the dogs had spotted a few
times previously.
We don't know why Judy
and Jess don't go after him. Perhaps he mesmerises them. Maybe he is
even that same fox that Fred encountered on the back lane five years
ago.
Then Bert stood up and
Foxy got up too, looked at the man with the gun then turned on his
heel and trotted back to the woods.
Bert is not entirely
sure why he didn't shoot Foxy. A good few of our friends reckoned he
should have squeezed the trigger and about as many again said he was
right to let him go. He felt he made the right call. I think so too.
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