Living rough

There’s nothing I like better than a fresh bit of chicken, or maybe a new laid egg or two. When you live out of doors as I do, neither are so easy to come by. I have problems keeping dry when it rains and warm when the weather gets cold, but at least I’m out in the fresh air all the year round.

Some of my friends live in towns, but I can’t stand the idea of being surrounded by tall buildings, so now I live with my family out in the country.

After some searching I eventually found the ideal place to live. Given my liking for chickens and their by products, I was lucky enough to find a chicken farm one day. This was going to be an ideal spot; I could feel it in my bones. The farmer had more chickens than I could count and I was quite sure he wouldn’t miss one or two, so when he wasn’t looking I went in and grabbed one as quietly as I could. Then I hurried off to fetch my family and we all moved into the area.

Well for a month or two every thing was fine, but then I noticed the farmer going round the chicken run and looking carefully at his fences and mending any holes he found. Surely he couldn’t have noticed the odd chicken disappearing now and again. It was a very long fence and I was able to get in through a hole before he finished the job. I got a large stock of chickens that night and as many eggs as I could carry, then the family settled down for a week or so without having to look for any more food.

Of course eventually we all wanted a bit more variety in our diet, so I started going round the local dustbins at night. It’s amazing what people throw out in their bins, you can live quite well if you’re not too fussy. But my personal preference was still chicken. There came a point where I couldn’t stand it any longer, so I carefully dug a new hole under the fence and sneaked through to the hen house. I only took one bird because I thought the farmer might get cross if I took any more, but he wouldn’t mind one now and again.

The next day I watched closely from behind a bush as the farmer made his rounds. I could have sworn that I’d covered over the hole under the fence, but somehow or other he noticed that the ground had been disturbed. That night he was watching where I had dug the hole so I went round to the other side of the farm and dug another hole, hopefully he wouldn’t find it.

I was wrong of course! The next night I went out and reconnoitred the last hole. He’d filled it in, so he obviously realised I still wanted the odd chicken now and again. I waited until it was very dark, then carefully dug another hole and set off for the chickens. I had only just got into the henhouse when a very loud bell sounded the alarm. I didn’t even take the time to grab a meal for the next day, I just ran.

The farmer must have put the bell into the henhouse to wake him up if I ever went back. Sure enough he came running out of the farm house just as I sneaked under the fence, he shouted something at me I didn’t understand, then fired a gun at me! Pellets whizzed past my ears but fortunately I was just too far away for him to do any damage. Oh well, I suppose now he’s seen me we’ll all have to move again. It’s a very hard life being a fox!

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