Fantastic Mr.Fox
'Fox!' I shouted from the bathroom window. We have kept chickens for a few years now and have never had a problem. In fact, in our part of France, people just let them roam free...often on the road; so, seeing Br'er Fox in the middle of the afternoon, astride a pile of feathers, was a shock. The coop was like Fort Knox, but our enclosure was poor to non-existent. I hurled myself down the stairs and out of the front door. Foxy Loxy had disappeared, but the mangled Henny Penny was still there...thankfully dead. Our lovely chicken had been reduced to a jumble of red and white feathers with a solitary leg sticking out, like a limp periscope. The other three chickens were in the far corner of the enclosure clucking; but after a quick psychological examination, I decided they weren't too traumatised by the ordeal (we had five, but one had expired in the recent heatwave, when the mercury had tickled 41 degrees, for the best part of a week). Anna, my wife, joined me at the crim...