One Week Later

Taken just after the first attack. Three more would fall victim to Bastard Fox.

Part of the reason I write this blog is to remind myself what is going on in my life. When did I have the cataract operation? Look it up on the blog. Just over four weeks ago. When was the last time the fox got into the hen run? That would be in July 2012, and in the month of May 2008 and 2009. The May attacks were bad ones and, like this year, would most likely have been carried out by an adult fox with cubs to feed. We thought that the 2012 attack was a junior for on that occasion the hen survived.

This time we lost five in three separate incidents. Reminds me of Lady Bracknell for to lose two is unfortunate, five seems careless. Here's what happened. We kept them in the day after the first two were attacked. Foxy was interrupted and only got a bite or two of the rooster. Bert sprayed the weeds and brambles around the fence to see where it needed reinforcement. That was going to take a day or two to sort out. The day after I felt so sorry for them not getting out to forage and grub that I let them out and put Rusty and Lily in with them to deter Foxy. That worked. Foxy was not going to go into an enclosure with two great pigs in it. Had he done so I am certain that the pigs would have not paid him a bit of attention. I've mentioned before that pigs are rough and they managed to dislodge part of the chicken shed. It was the part that provided an escape route under the house. Two hens disappeared. We heard or saw absolutely nothing. I assume they went into the tangled undergrowth that lies between our place and the derelict, overgrown property next door. Where a fox was waiting. We were down to ten hens.

I had a plan. We would move them back to the old run, the one that no fox had entered for three years. We would do it on the following day after I had returned from some business in Ballymena and after a thorough inspection of the perimeter. Bert was in a hurry to get it done and persuaded me to move them before I left. He said he had sorted out the perimeter himself. With the help of a friend we moved the ten hens to their new home and I headed into town. Three hours later I returned to the news that the fox had got in and killed one of my favourite chickens, a big silvery grey girl.

The remaining nine have been closed in ever since and I feel so sorry for them. Bert is going away next week and there is not enough time to strengthen security. We'll get something sorted when he comes back.

He saw the brute yesterday at the edge of the wood. It gave him a cool stare. The gun was in the house.

Murder in the Chicken Run

When a rooster flies at you and puts his spurs into your leg, you notice it. This fellow was a big heavy lad and he ruled the roost. I'm going to miss hearing him crow tomorrow morning.

Yep! Foxy got into the hen run this evening, killed my beautiful rooster and one of the new chickens. He (or she)  dug a way under the fence from the garden of the derelict house next door. He'd already killed the big fellow and was making off with the hen. Bert gave chase and Foxy was unable to get his prize under the fence. So he didn't get his dinner. Bert had to pull the poor hen's neck as she wasn't completely dead.

I miss my lost roosters more than my hens. They may not lay eggs but they have bigger characters. I need to get another one and I need to make sure the damnable fox doesn't find it so easy to get into the run. Bert went out with the gun but saw no sign of it. I'm in two minds about killing them because I'd be thinking of hungry cubs. And Evie wouldn't be pleased. She's in the fox camp.

And from Hannah's perspective - this.

Photo by ZMB

Foxy Bites Off More Than He Can Chew

Foxy invaded the hen run this evening. Bert heard the commotion and got a glimpse of him running off. At first we thought he'd made off with one of the Jersey Giants but then I found her hiding in a hedge, She had a great bare patch at the side of her neck and she was terribly traumatised, Fox had got in under the fence in a spot that had been eroded underneath by the recent incessant rain. He pounced on the big chicken and pulled her under the fence. But because she is heavy and because Bert interrupted him he must have lost his grip and ran off without his chicken supper.

Bert headed out to the fields with the gun but had no joy. Foxy lives to hunt another day. He should have picked a smaller hen. Those Jersey Giants can catch and kill mice and frogs. They wouldn't be much of a match for a full-grown fox so I suspect our vulpine visitor must be one of this year's cubbing.

Tomorrow I must make sure that there are no vulnerable spots around the run. Foxy will be back. That is for sure.

Fuck You Fox

All our laying chickens are gone. And Corky is gone. Bert forgot to hit the on-switch on the electric fencer. 

The fox only needs one window of opportunity. 

Hannah was the first to see Foxy crossing the yard with a still-flapping chicken in her mouth. That is one encounter with nature we'd prefer not to see. 

Clint Has No Cock

Poor Clint. Foxy made off with his three remaining roosters, each one of them reared from an egg. That's Son of Corky, the Lakenvelder and the Barnvelder all gone.

Meanwhile down in Seannachoill the Kerry Sister and Brandon are being tortured by the incessant crowing of their neighbour's eight roosters. Kerry Sister tells him, "Paudeen, you're the talk of the parish carrying feed to eight useless roosters."

"Am I? " says he, delighted at the idea.

We may get a few good County Antrim foxes exported to the Dingle Peninsula to take care of the problem. I'd be glad to part a few of them.

Now what to do about the flock of sheep that spend a lot of time in the Kerry Sister's garden munching her vegetables and flowers? I've suggested they invest in a large freezer for starters.

Long Runs The Fox

Remember how Bert went out fox-hunting on Saturday night? He stalked Foxy, got a shot at him (it was a him) and thought he'd missed. Last he saw of the Ginger Bastard was him disappearing over a hill.

Last night we both went out but we didn't see anything. We just took a look at a deserted hole where Bert had seen cubs a month or so ago and where most of the chickens from The Massacre ended up.

He went out again tonight.


Seems he got Foxy after all. After stalking him and taking a shot Foxy took to the beaters over the hill. Bert assumed he'd got away.

By the lies of him it looks like he keeled over stone dead as he ran. Took the bullet in the lung. He was a handsome beast, tho' battle ravaged with ripped ears. He was well nourished with a belly full of frogs.

A battle won for Nellybert. The war goes on.

Fox Hunt

Bert nearly got Foxy last night.

There Bert was, crawling on his belly through nettles and ditches and there was Foxy strolling nonchalantly about, occasionally jumping in the air and pouncing on a frog. Bert had her in his sights and he took aim.

Bert nearly got Foxy last night.

But nearly isn't good enough. Sigh.

Then to make matters worse he strolled home, rifle slung over his shoulder to be met by Swisser arriving in the yard. She was overcome by lust at his gunslinger image. Said he reminded her of whatshisname out of all those spaghetti westerns - a scruffy gunman 'rotten to the core' and now she's decided that's how he should outfit himself for our wedding.

Sigh.

Chicken Fat

I've made a couple of changes to my sidebar. Chickens are down to four since Foxy grabbed the last of the game roosters. It was that one called The One That Everybody Hates. Guess Foxy didn't hate him. Since then Plum and the remaining three ex-battery girls have been roaming free. It's not as easy for the Vulpine Fucker to grab them when they're running loose.

Meanwhile Bert has been getting the hen run ready for 16 Buff Sussex hens. We're going to try electric fencing to see if we can keep the Ginger Bastard out.

The other change is the removal of the Weight Report. I'm a tad over eleven stone now and I've been there for months on end. It's a year since I decided to get some tonnage off and it's boring now. I don't want to be skinny for I like my face too much. I can hop over and nip under barbed wire fences, climb five bar gates like a teenager, run up mountains and other stuff youse young ones wouldn't believe an old girlie could do. I fit in 14-16 clothes and I feel all right. This diet is officially over.

Choosing His Words

Where've you been?

Making a total eedjit of myself.

What do you mean?

Well I went up to Philip McCartney's to ask if it was OK to go after those foxes on his ground.

What did he say?

Very little. He wasn't there but his wife was.

Oh.

She comes to the door and she's this red-headed woman and there's all these wee red-headed weans running about the place and I opens my mouth and says to her, 'There's a wee ginger bugger has been harassing my hens', and her jaw dropped and she looks round her at all the weans and I say, 'I mean a fox! A fox has been harassing my hens and is it OK if we go on to your ground to shoot it?'

What did she say then?

She just looked relieved and said, 'Shoot away at it!'

Omelettes Are Currently Off The Menu

Not our Foxy's offspring but of a similar age

Bert found Foxy's lair last night, saw her and her two cubs, got excited, shot at her and missed.

Alber' and friend came round this evening rigged out in full camouflage, armed to the teeth and staked her out. She was probably hiding in a gorse bush laughing her head off at them.

Did I mention she nabbed another hen? Our fences don't deter her. Our traps she easily avoids. She is, at time of writing this, still out there. Alber' and his mate got fed up and took themselves off home.

What Foxes Do

We had a visit from Foxy on Saturday morning. I'd let the hens out at about eight o'clock. Bert discovered the carnage at around 2pm. It had probably happened mid-morning. The hen run isn't that close to the house and we'd heard no commotion. The only unusual thing we spotted was Plum (the rooster) running around. In all the weeks that he has been confined with his harem he has never made any attempt to escape. He had all he wanted within the run. But when Foxy entered he managed to make his escape over the wire.

Nine hens were killed. The fox made off with four. She must have made several journeys. The remaining hens took refuge in the house. Five corpses were left semi-buried. Foxy intended to return.

This is where she got in. She dug a hole under the wire.


The remains of Morag, the Scots Dumpy.


This was one of Clint's special hens, reared from an egg.

One of the old battery hens we got from Bert's Aunie Fungus.

We've declared war on Foxy. I'd hoped to conclude this post with a picture of a dead fox but so far no luck. Alber' was to come yesterday and set a trap for her but he didn't make it. She came back last night and picked up four of the dead hens. Today there is one corpse left, Alber's trap is set and there is a bullet with her name on it waiting for her.

Mervyn's Gone

We heard an unmerciful squawking just outside the window - then it was further away. We ran outside. The squawking (a rooster's) was, by now, coming from the far end of the garden.

It wasn't Plum for he was safely tucked up with the hens in their new house. It wasn't The One That Everybody Hates or The Other One for they were perched in the old hen house. It had to be Mervyn - too proud to share space with the other bachelors. It had to be Mervyn who has refused to come in these past two nights. It had to be Mervyn who got his wings clipped for flying over the eight foot wire surrounding the new hen run to run with the new hens and fight with Plum. Poor Mervyn. King of the chickens but no match for Foxy.

Who Killed Little Orphan Andy?

Observant readers may have noticed that I have added a couple of extra items to my sidebar. These are 'number of chickens' and 'weight lost since 02/07/07'. Expect both of these items to change regularly.

For instance, when I added it, the number of chickens was set at 10. Two days later I had to change it to 8. Foxy got one of my new half-game pullets and, it appears, Little Orphan Andy. At least I think it was Foxy. Bert has other ideas.

Foxy definitely got one of Clint's geese, a big one, and two young roosters. Alber' was hired to come lamp Foxy. Alber' shot two. A big daddy and a young one. So we can assume that there are quite a few more stroking about.

Bert said we cannot be certain Foxy took Little Orphan Andy. He says it could have been a buzzard, or a rat, or a weasel, or even..........

Orphaned!

Before I had chickens I used to admire Foxy. I'd hear people like Pearlie going on about how evil he was and how he should be killed at every opportunity and I'd think,

She's mad. Imagine wanting to slaughter the beautiful, clever fox for the sake of a few manky hens.

How I've changed my tune! Foxy got Bernie today. Again! And now her little chick is an orphan.

Bring on Alber' and his lamp and his .22 for war has been declared on the vulpine horde.

Little Orphan Annie or Andy. We're not sure yet.

The Bastard Got Bernie Too!

Bernie, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

That's it! Fox-hunting to be reintroduced at Nellybert's. It's not as if they're scarce.