I can't look at a red fox without hearing, "Hey, dummy!"
The first fox of the season popped round this morning as I was prepping for a ride.
He (or she) had a refreshing drink at my front-lawn sprinkler, then wiped out a few chickens belonging to a neighbor before leading us all on a merry chase around the ’hood.
Little sucker was as shameless as a House Republican, but absolutely without fear (this is how you can tell the difference between a chicken-stealing varmint and a House Republican).
I briefly considered sending the obnoxious sumbitch to the Great Beyond with one of the quieter family firearms — something in a .22 long — but decided against it. He (or she) is just doing what comes natural, and I don’t have the State’s permission to bust a cap in his (or her) ass.
But Turkish, Mia and Buddy will be enjoying some strict supervision in the backyard henceforth, and I may invest in a bag of BBs for the old air pistol. A ping in the pooter may persuade this grinning rascal to seek sustenance elsewhere.
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