Fox Craft .....

  Talking to a mate, the other day. Well, 'Talking' as in reading and replying to e mails.

 Known this guy half my life. Only half my life, mind. Shows he turned up late and has stayed around a damn long time. We used to enthuse about ferrets, Dogs and shit.

Now we burble to eachother about loss of bowel control, while farting. Strange aches, pains and maladies. And the fact that we're not going to live for ever more.

  Life's a bitch. Ye marry one. Costs ye an arm and a leg. It fucks off. Then ye die.

 And life goes on ~ Being a bitch for those left behind.

  I wonder if foxes see it that way? 'Ye born. Chased, shot at and driven at. Sooner or later ~ if a wheezing chest or falling out teeth don't get ye, al' a Plummer ~ Ye get fucked, physically, somehow and die.' 

 Not all foxes. " Big Jim " asked me, just the other week, about how crafty foxes are. I casually replied that much of what we consider 'cunning', in a fox, is simply down to better senses of smell, hearing ..... Shit like that.

 They smell our soap ..... Alright. Fair enough; Your soap, FFS. Smell tobacco. Hear us moving. Shit like that. Maybe fifty yards away. We reckon they're crafty as all fuck? No. They just have far better ears, nose and eyes than us.

 Then, an old mate brings ye a snippet like this:

" I shall diversify now  briefly . A mate, an ex - lorry driver used to lay - up in a lorry park at Gatwick, next to the A23. Paul is not a country person. Anyway he spots a three legged fox  scattering rabbits on the verge. "No chance my crippled little friend ", thinks Paul to himself.

   Rabbits come out of cover to resume feeding. Fox comes out of cover to resume chasing. Rabbits scatter and dive into the hedge. Except one who swerves into the road and is the victim of a lagamorphian RTA.

Ping. Fox has his supper.

Apparently Paul witnessed this crafty feat several times over the ensuing months. Foxy knew all about spacial awareness too. It would actually wait for a gap in the traffic before retrieving its prey. "

 

 

    Couldn't make shit like that up, could I? And nor would my old mate. Crafty fuckers, foxes.