The Fox

The fox went out on a chilly night. He prayed to the moon to give him light. He had many a mile to go that night before he reached the town-o’

I hate the fact I can’t get that refrain out of my head.  What’s worse is I can’t remember the rest of the song.  It’s stuck in your head but it’s not even the whole bloody song.

So here I am in the dark trying to remember the song.

I could get my phone and search it up.  But I’m comfortable and don’t really want to disturb anything I’d be sure to trip over something and make a noise, destroying the peace.

How does that song go?

‘He ran till he came to a great big pen where the ducks and the geese were put therein.

“A couple of you will grease my chin before I leave this town-o’

Silly song.  But it’s so catchy.  I should know it after all these years.  Heard it as a child, the wife sings it to the kids.  They all seem to like it and really so do I.

I see movement in the dark. I pull my rifle up, and look through the sight.  There he is, a healthy looking fox but he’s healthy because of my chickens.  He’s sneaky skirting the edges, trying to find a way in to the pen.

‘He grabbed the great goose by the neck. He threw a duck across his back. He didn’t mind the quack, quack and the legs all danglin’ down-o’

I ease the rifle bolt into position, it makes a slight click, he stops, ear twitching, nose in air.  I don’t move.  I don’t want him to run.  He needs to stay.  He waits, then relaxes and continues to check the pen.  He is within range now.  I stroke the trigger, waiting.

‘The old gray Woman jumped out of bed, out of the window she popped her head.

Cryin’ John, John the great goose is gone,the Fox is on the town-o.

Such a beautiful creature, I know they’re a pest, but it’s not their fault.  He’s trying to push into the pen.  He stops.  I smile. He won’t be stealing my chickens tonight.

‘He ran till he came to his nice warm den, there were the little ones 8, 9, 10

Sayin’ Daddy, Daddy better go back again, it must be a mighty fine town-o’

The fox has found what I’ve left for him.  He grabs it greedily making off with it. He will take it to his family.  I know he has one.  He has only recently started plundering regularly with the cooler weather. I have finally remembered the song.

‘The Fox and his Wife, without any strife. They cut up the goose with a fork and a knife

And they never had such a supper in their life. And the little ones chewed on the bones-o.’

But it will be his and his family’s last meal, laced with poison.

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~ by Bron on July 25, 2015.

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