Out-foxed

When we first got chickens (two years and one month ago now; my how the time flies when you're anthropomorphising), people warned us of 1) rats and 2) foxes.

'We don't get foxes around here,' we said. Or rather I said, because Andy is always more ready to believe in the existence of all sorts of creatures in our close vicinity, mostly because he watches Doctor Who and seems to think it's real.

And yes, people were right. We've had two rats, both dealt with swiftly by a heady combination of poison-laden traps and me rushing out into the garden whenever I saw one, shrieking like a banshee and waving my broom in the air until the head came off. (The broom, not mine). But foxes? NO. Not in our suburb. Way too busy on the roads. No handy hidey holes. AND we haev wheely bins.

However, this non-sighting of fox has not stopped Andy fretting about our hens, and fox-proofing Cluckinghen Palace 'just in case.'

Which is just as well, because this year we have been plagued with foxes outside our bedroom window. It started about a month ago. Woken in the middle of the night we were, by a screaming so horrendous it made our collective blood run cold. Once I'd got over the initial shock of being woken suddenly and with heart-pounding, skin flushing terror, I got out of bed and looked out onto the street. Three foxes sitting on the pavement, shrieking at each other. Shortly joined by a fourth.

'Shut up!' I yelled, or would have yelled if I had been in full possession of my voice at the time, which I wasn't. Instead, I made do with a strangulated rasping sound, but it seemed to do the trick because they all stopped and sat and stared up at me instead. I did not like this sudden vulpine attention - it reminded me of an advert I saw when I was about 8 years old, of a red sports car being pursued by a pack of wolves, brimstone-yellow eyes gleaming in the dark. Gave me nightmares for ages, that advert.

Anyway, since that night, the foxes have appeared periodically, to shriek and scream and wake me up. They did it last night. Well, one did. But the point is, is that it's enough to wake me from a deep sleep, and by the time my heart has stopped racing, my blood pressure come down and I've managed to convince myself I will not suffer some shock/ adrenaline induced heart attack, I am wide awake and can't get back to sleep. Hence going to work today on 4 hours of sleep, and getting home only to fall asleep and Andy arriving home from work before I woke up to cook dinner, thereby forcing him back out to hunt for chips.

But what do I do about these here foxes? The hens are safe. To get into the back garden, the foxes would have to climb a 7 foot fence, or dig under concrete. And then they would have to scale another 7 foot fence, and then work out how to undo the pod. It's me that's in danger. Me and my sleep-deprived sanity.

The noise is muffled and more bearable if the bedroom window is shut. But I like to sleep window open, because somehow it stops me waking up with a sore throat and bunged up nose, plus it helps with the old hot flushes. And sleeping with a window open makes me feel somehow better connected with the world, but that's probably to do with some weird psycholigical defect I have.

So do I keep a selection of objects to throw from the window? Do I shout/ swear/ join in the screaming? Do I make some random weird no-too-loud noise to attract their attention in a subtle, yet shriek-stopping way? Do I march downstairs and have it out with them, woman to fox, and risk getting my arms ripped off a la being chased by wolves in a red sports car mode? Or do I get ear plugs? I've tried ear plugs, though. And I can't cope with anything being in my ears, because of my highly inflexible ear cartilage.

It's difficult to know what to do.

Yawwwwnnnnnnnnnnnn!