Monday, 26 May 2014

Deaths in the family

I didn’t want to tell her, but eventually I had to.

There was a fox, I said to The Girl, and her horrified face showed she understood.

Our neighbour had seen it running around our yard; ordinarily someone is at home during the day, and we lock our chickens up safely at night, when the foxes come out. This fox must have hungry kits, we thought, to attack in the middle of the day – and waited until no one was around.

Our whole family got home at the same time, arriving at the crime scene. We searched all over the garden and found a few of our surviving hens, and locked them safely in the run. The Girl cried out, though, as she rounded a corner and saw a pile of white feathers.

After she calmed down a bit I kissed her teary face. When I get sad, do you know what I do? I asked.

“What?” she said without enthusiasm.

I get angry, I said. It’s a lot more productive than being sad. She found that good advice, and was soon coming up with creative uses for a fox pelt.

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