Updated: Jan 29
I see you , Wee bushy tailed General of the back garden brigade . Cunning, crafty amber eyed assassin of the sleeping suburban streets , oh how sleekit you are . You care not a jot for the bright hours of the day but lay low in your den plotting and scheming nights blissful dark , when the rubbish bin raiders rule supreme.
So go forth Laird O’ the lanes and rally the garden commandos .
Hedgerows, walls and a fence or three are mere urban assault courses for you and your troops as you forage behind enemy lines forever hunting down yon tasty treat . An old apple core perhaps , discarded Turkey carcass , that half eaten burger or the jewel amongst modern mans last grasp reach for something lost from long ago ....the back garden chicken house !
I see you Mr Fox .