I've just come inside from burying what was left of my five bantam chooks
after a visit from Vulpes Vulpes. He always makes such a hideous mess of
things, leaving wings and heads and feathers and blood and even entire bodies lieing about.
It makes me very sad.
Foxes are a big problem to amateur Victorian poultry farmers, because since
most of the rabbits have been got rid of with hunting and myxomatosis, there is
little else for them to eat but domesticated birds.
Foxes were introduced to Australia early last century for bored rich people
to chase and kill. They don't belong here. And sure, neither do my chickens. But
at least I had them for good reasons. I cared for them, and they gave me eggs.
And now they are dead, and in a muddy hole in the ground.
All the time I was digging, the words to an old, traditional song kept
running through my head. It's a cheerful little song, not really fitting, but
since we don't seem to have it here...
The Fox
The Fox went out on a chilly night,
Bayed at the moon to give him light,
For he'd many a mile to go that night,
Before he'd reach the town-o,
Town-o, town-o,
Many a mile to go that night,
Before he'd reach the town-o,
He ran 'til he came to a great big pen,
Where the ducks and the geese were kept therein,
"A couple of you will grease my chin,
Before I leave this town-o,
Town-o, town-o,
"A couple of you will grease my chin,
Before I leave this town-o,
He grabbed the grey goose by the neck,
Slung a duck across his back,
He didn't mind their
"QUACKQUACKQUACK!"
Or the legs all a-dangling down-o,
Down-o, down-o,
He didn't mind their
"QUACKQUACKQUACK!"
Or the legs all a-dangling down-o.
Then old mother FlipperFlopper jumped out
of bed,
Out of the window she stuck her head,
She cried "John! John!
The grey goose is gone!
And the fox is on the Town-o,
Town-o, Town-o"
"John! John! The grey goose is gone! And
the fox is on the Town-o!"
Then up ran John to the top of the hill,
Blew his horn both loud and shrill,
The fox said "I'd better get off this hill,
Or he'll soon be on my trail-o,
Trail-o, trail-o,
I'd better get off this hill,
Or he'll soon be on my trail-o."
He ran 'til he came to his cozy den,
There were his little ones,
eight, nine, ten...
They said, "Daddy, you'd better go back again,
'Coz it must be a mighty fine Town-o,
Town-o, Town-o,
"Dad, you'd better go back again,
'Coz it must be a mighty fine Town-o!"
Then the Fox and his wife,
Without any strife,
Ate up the goose
with a fork and knife
They'd never had such a supper in their life,
And the little ones chewed on the bones-o,
Bones-o, bones-o,
They'd never had such a supper in their life,
And the little ones chewed on the bones-o.