The Three Amigos

The 3 Amigos. Top to bottom, Billie-no-Mates, Little Orphan
Annie and Beeblebrox

I find chickens a constant source of amusement. I could watch them for hours. What fascinates me most is their very different personalities and how the dynamics between them work. Who is the boss and does he have any challengers? How many hens does each rooster 'mind' and how loyal are they to their man? Are they serene, calm and 'decent' to one another or are some a little bit mean and spiteful? Are they fully hand-tame or quite skittish and nervous? How are the youngsters trying to integrate with the main flock? How do they react to the dog(s) or fox? Are any self-proclaimed guard-dogs?

I may be getting my sense of humour back!

Recently I have been able to watch as the group dynamic all re-adjusts following the removal of several key players by the fox. This included the #2 rooster (Corporal), the male "black-baby" (Araucana) and the mother rearing the 4 newest chicks, plus 3 of the chicks. This event left us with three lonely females who have since coalesced, rather nicely, into a tight little gang whom I call "The Three Amigos". These are, in no particular order:-

• The female Araucana who lost her brother/main man. These guys had that Araucana "top knot" of feathers on their heads so looked like they had two heads and were named "Zaphod (and) Beeblebrox" after the character in Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. She is Beeblebrox.
• The abandoned poult from down the lane, left behind when the fox took all of our friends' birds except this one. Billie-no-Mates is on long loan to us while our chum decides whether to go back into chickens.
• Little Orphan Annie, the one young Buff-Orp not eaten by our fox when he took her Mum and 3 siblings. 

The Three Amigos spend most of their time together but not with the rest of the flock, but are loosely affiliated to our old original #1 Buff Orp rooster, the Lieutenant Colonel.

Meanwhile, our Christmas progresses and we have the tree up, lit and 'decked'. It turned out to be a good one. I had been worried that a lot of the foliage on one side arose from a single branch growing from so low down the stem that, to get it into my stand, I would need to cut this branch off leaving a well-stood but lopsided tree. We worked it by cutting tight into the bottom of the joint so that the stand would go on and the branch stay attached. We have it in a new position this year as the old slot is now taken by the reclining settee.

We spent a happy hour decorating it while the 'kattens' ran around like children given a new climbing frame and toy. Is this ALL for US? You are SO KIND! Luckily, after an initial flurry of fun, patting low-hanging baubles till they fell of and skittered across the ground, the pair have become bored with this toy and moved on. We made sure to only hang the cheap simple silver balls down there. The more expensive, more unusual decs and those with good memories and stories attached (We bought this in New Orleans or 'Do you remember our friend x gave us this one?).

"We got this in New Orleans!" (see text)

The tree-dec thing is one of our family traditions - anyone who stays to visit at Christmas is bullied into buying a dec for our tree (and they, of course, get one back for theirs).

Lidl's rather good Glühwein

We have started a new 'family tradition' this year, teed off by our visitors Dan and Dan (see earlier post). Dan (the Man) spent a lot of his growing-up time living in Germany, so is quite fond of that German speciality, warmed mulled wine or "Glühwein". Dan told us that the pre-mix currently being traded by Lidl is a rather good one and to prove it, he turned up with a bottle and had us warm it up and try it. We have since bought a couple as part of the weekly shop, so we had one on the shelf as we finished the tree and decided that it would be a very pleasant way of celebrating the tree-wrangling. It was indeed. It is beginning to taste a lot like Christmas.

Up till today, we have had a very nice
rainless and almost windless December

I was amused enough by 2 things this morning to have remembered them long enough to include them here. The first came on the radio when the announcer, interviewing a sports pundit, spoke of a vox-pop competition for the "Best Sporting Moment" of 2016. I'd forgotten all about this but the winning 'moment' involved two Irish rowers (Gary and Paul O'Donovan) from Skibereen competing at the Olympics in Rio. The Irish entry into the Olympics got quickly mired in bad news, controversy and alleged criminal conspiracies - the boxers all under-performed disastrously, there were failed drug tests which got certain big names sent home in disgrace and one of the Team Managers got embroiled in a ticket sales ring.

Blue. You have a good Christmas... or else!

Then, under the 'radar' and emerging from all this, two unknown Irish lads in a "mens' lightweight coxless scull" who no-one had paid any attention to before, started winning.

Even better, when interviewed, they proved to be so down to earth and lacking in airs, graces and sports celeb' nonsense that the journalists  had a field day with their 'blokish' sound-bites and we all fell in love with them. When asked about special diets to maintain fitness they said that as they were in Rio "you could have steak and spuds for breakfast lunch and dinner if you like" and when asked about their strategy for victory, Paul said ""It isn't too complex really, A to B as fast as you can go and hope for the best. Close the eyes and pull like a dog." 'Steak and Spuds' and the 'pull like a dog' quickly became the tee-shirt slogans.

Finally, we were both delighted and amazed to find that the Irish had a word all along for that thing where you have put down the object and you know it is safe but you can't remember where. In our family it was always "It's just on the surface somewhere". My British readers should pronounce it, approximately as "Kyle tash-ka" for that authentic Gaelic effect.

Fairy Lights and Chimney Smoke

Most of my readers are old enough, I think, to have their own horror stories about Christmas Lights. Getting the lights out and onto the tree was always a major adventure - if they didn't work you had to comb through all those 'dead', screw-in sockets with your known good bulb till you found the failed bulb. There was a 'fuse bulb' too, as I recall which you might have to replace to get any bulbs to light, so you had to keep the box the lights came in, so that you would always have spare bulbs and spare fuses. The happy days of "incandescent" bulbs.

Then some clever soul invented the LED, the 'light emitting diode', a semi-conductor component which could do the same amount of light by "electroluminescence" (now there's a good word) with none of the hot filament problems, brittle glass 'envelope'  or high energy consumption or mad expense. They also had much faster 'switching' ability so they could be used in 'blinking', 'flickering' and 'twinkling' applications. It was inevitable that one of the uses in the "task lighting" group spotted by the makers trying to go commercial would be Christmas 'fairy lights' - they could surely flog gazillions and bring the price right down.

We have never been ones for lighting up the outsides of our houses; all those trees, reindeer, penguins and Santas you see rigged up in front gardens and on roofs. We used to drive round spotting the good ones but our house was always one of the 'boring' ones with no lights. Well, we have finally cracked, just in a small way and gone over to the 'dark side' (or should that be the twinkly lit side?). Liz spotted an advert for our favourite household 'stuff' shop up in Sligo, "HomeStore+More". They were doing 48 metre 'strings' of clear white light LEDs at only €25 each with a handy 10 metre blank 'lead' to get you out from plug socket to garden.

The tree is bought and fitted to its stand
but not indoors yet. Trees are very cheap
compared to the UK. This 2.5 m one was
 €30 in the local SuperValu

By happy coincidence, our front-lawn fence is 10 m  from the plug socket in the sitting room as the electron flies and the fence from there to the front gate is almost exactly 48 m ! A 2nd strand (she bought 2, unable to resist this temptation) was planned for the other side of the drive but could not be worked, so I strung it from one of the Tígín sockets, in a big loop along both gutters and up over both 'barge ends', up to the apex either end and a quick loop round the little stub chimney.

Yesterday's full moon sets into cloud
made pink by a real 'red sky in the morning'
sunrise behind me. 

The little control box on these (part of the plug) has quite sophisticated electronics in it allowing you to toggle between 8 light 'patterns' (always on, all on/off, 50/50 batches alternating etc). We like a soft twinkly pattern so there we are. Not too showy, tastefully lacking in penguins and Santas, no reindeer 'grazing' on the front lawn. (One final point; a 'note to self'. Do not attempt to string 48m of fairy lights along your fence while there are cats and kittens around keen to 'assist' That is all.)

Soldier the Cat assesses the 20' extending ladder for safety
prior to allowing the chimney sweep to climb it. He is up it
no bother and down again forwards a few minutes later. One
cool feline.  

Meanwhile I lit a nice fire in the sitting room a few days back hoping to surprise Liz with a lovely warm room on her return from work, where she could sit in her 'new' settee and relax with a gin. In the past, we have had issues with this fireplace and chimney which get very cold when not in use and provide a freezing down-draught for the range at the other end of the house. We have had to wedge old pillows up it to block it. This time I managed to quickly and very effectively fill the downstairs with smoke.

They sweep chimneys from the top down
in this country. 

Patently all was not well. I had swept it in January and we had had jackdaw pots fitted in Summer so we couldn't work out what the problem might be. Step forward our local roofer/chimney bloke, the guy who had done the jackdaw pots. He was worried that we might have had a masonry collapse - these old chimneys made from stone and cement (originally often lime mortar) can suffer from degradation of the 'cement' by all the hot/cold cycles over 150 years. The mortar turns to dust and trickles out like the sand through an hour glass.

365 project still going strong.

No such drama in the end; our man peered down the flue and spotted a great big jackdaw nest blocking the flue. The birds must have built it between me sweeping the flue and the fitting of our pots and it was far enough down that he didn't spot it (no torch that day) back then. Downstairs then, to masking tape a handy sheet of heavyweight plastic across the hearth to stop any dirt indoors, then up again with his sweeping brush rods and then a big solid lath of timber to bash down the jackdaws' "foundations". They can certainly wedge a stick across a chimney, those nest-builders.

If one of the kittens nicks your box, then
sit on top till it collapses on him. Enlist
the help of his sister to speed up the
process.

While we were at it Soldier the Cat impressed us with a demonstration of his ladder climbing skills, quickly up 16 feet or so to my gutters and then back down under full control at walking pace, front first with his body leaning forward almost vertically. One cool cat. The chimneys are all sorted now with the jackdaw 'cage' pots back in and the flue drawing like a cart-horse and Lizzie warm as toast tonight on her settee.

A new bed goes under the stairs now that the marmalade
kittens can kick the dogs out of 'their' beds.

That's about it for this one - one small bit of 'sad'. We lost another Buff Orpington hen today bringing our fox death-toll to 17. This bird survived the attack but never really recovered from what ever injuries or shock she had received. She never wanted to come back out of the shed and she stood and sulked. She would not take food or water brought to her, at least not while I was watching her, so she just faded across the days and has now given up the ghost. We hope that is it for young Mr Fox, himself now dead 15 days.

Not Now, Kato!

Kittens with a 'thing' about shoulders

All my readers except one will probably be familiar with the Pink Panther films with Peter Sellers playing the bumbling Inspector Clouseau (and don't worry, Mum, I will explain all!). You will also then, recall the character 'Kato' (now 'Cato' for some reason) played by Warrington born, Singapore raised 'Burt' Kwouk, Clouseau's manservant.

The 365 project is going a bit Christmas as lit up trees and
house fronts start to appear in the 'patch'

The running gag through all the films was that Kato was ordered to attack Clouseau when he least expected it to keep him alert, usually resulting in Clouseau's flat being wrecked. Amid the chaos, the phone would ring and Kato would calmly answer it with "Inspector/Chief Inspector Clouseau's residence", before dutifully handing the phone to his employer and being thumped by Clouseau. (Wikipedia)

All good fun but we now have 2 little 'Kato's of our own. The kittens seem to have a thing about shoulders and getting up onto them and they do this at unexpected moments, creeping up on you from behind with cat-like (yeah, well) stealth and leaping up as far as they can before scrambling the rest of the way up by gripping with their claws. They do this whether you are seated or standing, whether you are empty-handed, or using a sharp knife or holding a boiling kettle and, more importantly, whether you are clothed in nice thick coat and hat or just a spaghetti-strap 'vest' top.

Blue doesn't give a fig for Christmas but he does like a
'shopping' box.

I have even been leapt at from a window-sill after seeing what was about to happen and retreating backwards across 6 feet of kitchen thinking (you fool!) that that kitten would 'bottle' jumping across to land on my polo-shirted chest. Ouch. Right on the 'farmer's tan. Both of us have multiple lacerations about the shoulders, Liz probably worse than me, but then, I don't do the 'spaghetti strap vests' quite as often as she does. They are no longer little feather-weight kittens, but adolescent, half grown lumps of cats, so they pack quite a punch. This is a habit we need to break them of.

Nice local gin and Irish chocs, but will they last till the 25th?

As for most people by now, Christmas has started happening for us - lights, shopping, planning and lists. For the 365 project this has meant a bit of light relief and inspiration in the long run of 'nothing happening' Autumn days. I can nip out of an evening and 'get' a few nicely lit house fronts and trees. It's not easy because the twinkly new LED lights are as likely to be in their 'off' phase when you fire the shutter, as 'on' and the automatic mode on the camera reacts to all the black surrounding night by washing out the colour from lights, but we chug along and always seem to have something to submit to the project.

Mrs Blackbird will be a 'Collie Bird' for the 4th day of Christmas

Today was one of those days where we were both free and we needed to do some shopping but for Christmassy reasons this needed to be separate and a bit covert, so I took the car south in the morning and Liz took it north in the afternoon. When ever we leave the normal 'patch' we latch on all sorts of extra jobs and purchases which we can not do in the two local towns. Don't get me wrong - 'local' is best and we always support local small businesses and traders if we can but there are things you need to go to the 'big town' and the bigger shops for.

2 cats just can not get comfy in a Spanish lemon box

For example, Liz had heard of  a new brand of gin made in Ireland (in Co. Waterford) which was winning awards, and thought to be the best Irish made gin at a reasonable price (€25). This is Boyle's and only available locally in Aldi supermarket, the nearest one to us being Roscommon Town. One of my friends from archery had latched onto a conversation we'd had at a meet where I had told him that we managed to get poitín locally (no names, no pack drill, obviously!). He asked me to get a couple of bottles for his Mum (I kid you not!), so that became an add-on mission. We met, 2 cars in the car park outside Aldi, him dressed in a hoodie, passing anonymous wrapped parcels over in exchange for cash. I wonder what their CCTV crew made of us.

Liz and a kitten enjoy the 'new' reclining settee.

Liz is dreaming up a rather nice add-on project for the '365' thing around the 12 days of Christmas, No details yet as I don't want to spoil the surprise but we are trying to 'translate' the 12 gifts (pear trees, calling birds, drummers drumming etc) into the village 'patch' and the 18 townlands that make it up. There are some lovely ideas there and I have been sent off to try to photograph certain things in time for the 12 days. The plan is to put the 'gifts' up on their correct days (the 'pear tree one' on day 1, turtle doves on day 2 etc). More on this when it has all happened.

Marans Rooster

On the Dec 26th week I am having another turn at 'curator' of the @SmallHolderIRL Twitter account. I was the 2nd ever curator almost a year ago and the Twitter account, led by Margaret Griffin (@FoodBorn) has gone from strength to strength with now 2500 followers and a regular supply of new volunteers willing to tweet for a week from their holdings. We have had all manner of Irish smallholders as well as some from the UK and all have had their own distinct slant on the activity - organic growers who run veg-box schemes, bee keepers, Dexter beef growers, potager veg growers, shepherds, you name it.

A big chunk of 'hang' comes out of the freezer and into sweet
cure for 'bacon and cabbage' on St Stephen's Day

I am quite excited about this as I love doing it and I have picked up the post-Christmas "turkey sandwiches" shift plus, I am delighted to realise, St Stephen's Day (Boxing day to you Brexitters) which is, of course, the day for the 'Wren Boys'. There is a lovely Irish tradition of which more on the day. We are especially excited that we will have Steak Lady here over Christmas and she will just be blown away if (as last year) some real costumed 'Wren Boys' do show up on the 26th.

The 2 well known local edible seaweeds, Carrageen and Dillisk.
Now we just need recipes!

Well, that's enough for this one - I'll just post a few more pictures in the 'tail' as I have them. Have a good run in to the Festive Season, all, and don't go anywhere near Sligo where Liz texted me today from her shopping trip that she didn't realise "It is National Drive Like a Gobshite Day".

My little cubby hole where I write this blog under the stairs
can get a bit gloomy. Not any more. Liz found this little string
of fairy lights at €2.50. Now I can see the keyboard.

Hope I don't need to explain that one.

"Acting the Bollix"

The '365' project tries to bring in as many local businesses as
want to be included. These pics from a superb local artist and
picture-framer, 'Black Hen Designs'.

I have promised not to bore you with empty 'fox-news' updates but I hope you'll allow me the occasional non-news, fox-related anecdotes and stories. This one is just a re-hash of a conversation with our shot-gun man who is sometimes given to use of the quite fruity local idiom and farm-related jargon. It always makes me smile; I just hope my readers are not feeling sensitive today and can cope.

I badgered a local beef-farmer into letting
me picture his new born calves. This one
is a Limousin born last night to a first-time
Mum. Mother and daughter doing well

The local expression I am talking about is the use of "acting the bollix" to mean (usually of young men) playing the fool in a manner calculated to annoy, being stupid and teasing, being 'Jack the Lad' and so on. We were talking about the fact that during our fox attack we knew that there was (at least) one young one all over us like a rash, and a much more careful full-grown (?) vixen. The youngster was easy to 'get' but the vixen then disappeared and has been seen very little since and never in our yard.

That Mum again with baby now standing up. In the background
another new 'family' from 2 days ago. 

My man said that the grown foxes are always much more wary (that's why they live to grow to adulthood!) while the youngster(s) born in April/May are just now finding their feet and charge around fearlessly like teenage boys "acting the bollix". They either come unstuck and find themselves shot or they survive a few scrapes by the skin of their teeth and learn some wariness.

I remember the first time I heard this expression was when we were being told the famous local story of the bank raid in Balla-D in the 80's where the raiders drove their get-away car down through the lanes to here but then rammed a police car at the local crossroads, then shot the 2 policemen. It was the previous owner of our house, a retired policemen, who turned up first and tried to wrestle the gun out of the villain's hands but was overpowered and had his car taken by the bad guys. The story as told to me had the robbers, all cock-a-hoop from their successful raid, driving noisily up Balla-D main street sounding their horns, shooting their guns in the air and "acting the bollix".

Christmas crib. What are those wise men doing there?

Meanwhile, in calmer, more peaceful waters I was able to help the village in an unexpected way this week - they needed straw for the Christmas crib in the Church. Liz knew that we'd have some but pointedly told me to give the man CLEAN stuff. I took that to mean not the dodgy used stuff off a chicken house floor. What must she think of me? Anyway, the guy got his nice bag of fresh-from-newly-cut-bale  and off it went to be installed by a couple of the lads who work there.

Yours for €4 the lot. These bulging sacks
of excellent turf from that auction.

It is a tradition here that because the crib will have been 'blessed' during its stay in the church, parishioners can nab twists of it to take home before it all gets thrown out, and thus spread the blessedness into their houses. So my poor, lowly (protestant) straw will by now be holy and much sought after. I met the lads who built the crib next day as I needed a '365' pic of it. They were waiting to be let into the church. "We did it," they said, "but I expect it's all wrong and someone will change it all around". They were right and I would have made the same mistake. They'd left Baby Jesus out (till 25th, obviously) but their 3 Kings were in there and NOBODY puts them in till 6th Jan. Ah well. Every day's a school day. I just assumed you threw it all in there on day 1 to cover the whole story. I didn't realise you had to follow the time line with characters coming and going across the 'play'.

The next phase of the woven willow hedge
- the longest whips get bent down to make
 the tunnel. I have not yet managed to get
the right hand side to grow yet. 

On the 365 story, now on week 45 (or so) and fast coming into the home straight, I got a nice result the other day, badgering my way onto a local beef-farm when the farmer let slip that he had new calves. He owed me a small favour but was understandably a bit wary of me clomping about near his first-time Mum and her very new baby. It went OK. He of course, found out that I don't do 'clomping about', I am very calm and serene around cattle and was very careful not to use much flash. I got my photo's and an invitation back to take more pics on the farm.

A nice basket of  'sods'.

The end of this day deserves a nice, warm fire and, as it's coming on Christmas, we like to start using the sitting room, the open fire and proper local Irish turf. It was good then, to get 3 big bags at the auction for a very reasonable price and I invested in a new woven willow basket for the stuff. Tonight, as I type this, Liz is settled into her 'new' recliner sofa, kittens on her lap, belly full of roast pork and toes toasting in the heat of a lovely fire. Does it get any better?

Safe House.

First Class travel for 5 hens and a rooster

If you had half a dozen chickens needing a babysitter would you pick as your first choice a bloke who has just lost half his flock to the fox through giving them too much freedom? No... I don't think I would either. However, my friends seem to have more faith in me than that and I am currently babysitting the single young hen 'Billie-No-Mates' (whom you met in the last post) for a chum down the lane and now 6 more chickens from another friend - no names no pack drill on that one.

The eagle(s) have landed. Now I just need
to sort out a run for them. 

The latter friends were in a right pickle and we had to move fast. Due to our own foxy shenanigans, we are currently trying to not leave the place un-manned while our birds are out and about, so I have started to keep them in till mid-morning while I race out and do any 'away' jobs. On the morning in question I nipped round to collect these birds at 08:00 and the lady had sensibly also not let them out, so that we could easily wrangle them into my big dog crate and a kitten basket, into the car and home.

A bit tight for the 6 but better than being exposed to the fox.
Our fox trap is just visible in the background. 

I do not have the perfect solution to this as the rooster is quite a big and feisty chap. Hence I can't let these 6 go free-range with my lot for the 2 weeks, but the lady is happy that they live in a rather confined rabbit run which is made from 1 inch 'weld-mesh' so is fox proof. As they wear out the grass under foot we simply move the run a metre sideways to new grass.

Sussex Ponte 'Enda' is not keen on this
being kept indoors till mid-morning
malarkey. She wants OUT.

On the fox, though NO NEWS. Since 'we' shot the young one on 1st Dec I have seen only one fox and that outside the east field fence. It fled as soon as I came round the house corner 50 yards away. I don't know whether I am delighted with this (have we solved the problem?) or sad that we still have a fox at large. Local expertise has it that the weather warmed up, so the foxes had no need to come into risky farmyards. They will be back, I am advised, as soon as the cold comes back. For now we will leave the trap down even though all we have caught for 6 days is the half grown male kitten, Chip, three times.

On the last go today, he went in as it started to rain and got very wet before he could attract our attention. His sister, unhelpfully, came in 20 minutes earlier and curled up quite happily in the warm probably knowing that he was stuck but choosing not to cry for him for a while. With friends like that...... He was very cross, as well as wet! Maybe now he has learned his lesson.

All 4 of our cats assess whether this bed
will fit in this 6 foot trailer. It didn't. 

In my brother, Mark's last blog post, he complains that all the family over there have been struck down with colds. Well, by the power of the Internet (it went 'viral'?) both Liz and I now have the same and we are mooping around waving tissues like surrender flags and dosed up on Lemsip Max. However, no peace for the wicked here and we come to the weekend of the annual village auction.

A 365 picture of a barn at night (dusk, anyway)

All the villagers who have anything spare bring it along to the hall  and then go in and bid for other items, with the money raised going towards the village 'hall' (The "Development Co Centre" no less). There is always a good range of furniture, children's toys, household stuff, tools, electrical goods and 'bric-a-brac', plus a Craft Fair runs in another room and Liz was even selling the calendars.

We took along a put-me-up bed (one divan slides under another so that it spends its down-time as a settee) which Liz tells me sold for €49 and Liz bought some Christmas present bits as well as some furniture for the spare room (pine wardrobe, chest of drawers and a small bedside dresser, total of €15). She then put in a bid of €5 just to be nice and start the ball rolling on a black leather reclining 2-seat sofa. Ooops. Sold to the lady selling the calendars! It is now brought home, cleaned up and in our Sitting Room, looks very smart and feels very comfortable.

Because of the lack of news on Mr Fox, I am going to park that story for now. If you don't hear any more then just assume old Mrs Fox is still at large and I am bored with writing about her failure to oblige us. I am also currently trusted with the baby sitting of 21 bullocks but that's another story.

One Down

Chivers admiring her spay scar which came back from the vet
painted a pretty silver (zinc?) colour and with very fetching,
dissolvable purple stitches. 

Enough of this foxy frivolity now, twirling the things round our heads by their tails. It all got much more serious last night and it's not anything you can tell funny stories about. We don't like doing it and we wish we did not need to. Some of our friends have objected in firm tones but, so far, they have accepted that we are all entitled to our own opinions. Foxes are definitely a controversial area which result in some heated discussions and forcefully put views. This post contains some text and pictures you might like to avoid, so I have deliberately included the material down-screen. It will not hit you when you first open the post, and if you want or need to avoid it then be warned. Do not scroll down this story.

We have had some very foggy mornings

It has been a painful time in which we have felt a bit 'pinned down', unable to leave the poultry out and un-attended because the two foxes we know about seem to work both night and day. Liz had her 'fox-flinging' event on Monday during the morning, and I saw foxes both Tuesday and Wednesday night. On Thursday morning Liz was given time off work because they had the auditors in, so I went shopping and Liz had another encounter, this time with no physical contact.

A lovely gift of eggs from Sue and |Rob.

Patrolling round the house, she stuck her head into the "empty" turkey house and looked along the building towards a low wall that divides it in two. Peeking at her over the wall was Mr Fox, who must have climbed half way up the chickens' perching ladder to look back at her. He scarpered before Liz could sneak the doors closed.

Copper Marans hen. One of 3 Marans hens who survived
Wednesday's attack (along with 2 roosters)

The foxes, though, were not going to be allowed it all their own way and on Thursday we upped the ante. We have borrowed a big cage-trap of proven ability and also welcomed a friend who lives nearby and who we know through Facebook, who came armed with a .22 rifle. I knew nothing of guns and had never even been close to a "Two two" so I was looking forward to seeing it in action. It is extremely accurate to 200 metres which easily met our needs. My job was going to be to hold the torch.

Fox cage-trap. The pale grey plate is the
pressure pad. The bait goes behind it.
Mr Fox stepping on the plate drops the
gate at this end of the trap.

In the event went very differently to the plans. Our first young fox got himself caught almost at the same time as my rifle-man was arriving, so was under arrest for barely 10 minutes and shot within the first 15 minutes of the visit. After that we never saw another fox despite walking all around the patch for almost 3 hours more.

A .22 Rifle and the result. The rifle was not really needed
in the event, a range of less than ten feet!

We think we heard the old vixen shouting from way away to the SW, possibly calling her now-dead child, but for us there were no eyes reflecting in our lights. It was very parky and we had dressed up warm for all the motionless, silent waiting. It was good every now and then to retreat back indoors for a hot drink and slice of cake. I had offered my man a share of our lamb ragu supper, but he'd eaten so much cake he was full up! We called it a day at around 7:30 pm, leaving the trap set in case our girl showed up on hearing the shooter drive away. She is no fool.

I woke up today, then, expecting a full trap but was disappointed; still set, open and empty. I was faced with another day of vigilance but wondered whether the big, dark vixen might keep to her 'Lizzie' schedule of mid-morning after the car had been driven away. I decided to keep all the birds shut in their bedrooms so that the only prey a sneaking fox would make contact with was the dead hen in the trap, bait. Again, no luck. Not a sign of her.

Sheep go from frosty to dry via steaming in the morning sun.

At 11:30 I let all the birds out and started my 'pinned down' anxious wait going about my chores but with my ears pinned back for the slightest squawk, honk or Guinea-cackle outside All I got were false alarms including one where the Guineas, flying up to a fence could suddenly see, from their higher viewpoint, where I had dropped my shot fox into long grass.

Christmas-Card morning where the
freezing fog last night had built long
fronds of needle crystal on plants

They could see enough red fur to trigger a positive fusillade of screams, cackles and raucous swearing which took me a few minutes to interpret - I'd raced round everywhere and knew there was no actual live fox about. I was trying to calm them and they were obviously yelling at my stupid, idiotic face "It's a fox! It's a fox! Look! Hiding in the grass!". If only I spoke Guinea Fowl.

Our lane this morning. 

We made it through to 4 pm, then, with no misadventures and it is now a huge relief to be able to shut away the birds and turn off the high-alert vigilance. It is no way to relax, let me tell you. Then, wouldn't you know it, I was through supper and had delivered Liz to the train station when the vixen showed up? I swear that lady knows that I have no gun and, unless she goes into my trap, no way of doing her any damage. My rifleman was only available that one night this week.

Just to add to the worries Liz has now hefted the little dead one by the tail and thinks that it is not, in fact, 'hers'. It is obviously a boy and she is sure that the one she was waving around did not have "that equipment". The angle she was looking at the animal from, she says, she would have noticed! This might mean that we actually have 3 foxes in this adventure, the vixen and 2 youngsters, a dog and a vixen.

More on all this as it progresses.