Reblogged from Smorgasbord:

Chapter Eleven – Summer:  The Foxes by Sally Cronin

Foxes are not liked by the farmers, especially those who have hens clucking around their farmyards. At night they hustle the indignant birds into their fenced off hen-houses, where they sit muttering all night on straw nests. As the moon rises above the forest, the red coated hunters slink around the paths, wending their way to their favourite hunting grounds. They are hopeful that there would have been a child who has neglected their chores and left a gate open, or a farmer who has supped too much beer in the pub, forgetting to herd his birds to safety.

The foxes knew to avoid certain farms, where shotguns with piercing buckshot had been fired in their direction before, and with sly cunning, the doglike creatures flickered in and out of the moonlight.

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