Early one morning in January 2006, I set up my portable high seet in the crux of a Y formed by three tracks. I was facing down the leg of the Y with my GWP bitch 'Tuppence' tucked up inside the BDS roe sack onthe ground. The flint track sloped downhill and widened with grass edges before the trees on either side. 200 yards downhill was a working saw mill. This was in a large forest in the Green Belt, between Dorking and Guildford.
It was cold with a good frost. Daylight arrived but no roe. It would have been about 0700. Suddenly, I saw a fox zip across the track from right to left and disappear into the trees, about 200 yards away I thought. I pulled off my right glove and did my best rabbit impersonation. Tuppence knows what this means but she stayed down and she stayed quiet. Almost imediately the fox reappeared from the tree out onto the track and totted in my direction. As I picked up the rifle, I pursed my lips and squealed softly. As I came into the aim fox looked to be about 80 yards away and I stopped squealing. She paused, unsure what was going on, and turned her head and shoulders slightly to her right. I shot her in the front of the chest and she never so much as twitched. But... she was only 40 yards away and more puzzling, I could find no exit wound. This was 7mm 140gr Sierra Pro-Hunter from a 7-08. My brother later said to lift the tail and inspect the anus where I'd be sure to see the rifling marks.
The taxidermist discovered what had happened. The bullet entered through the sternum, then exited through the ribs on the right side, it re-enterd in front of the right thigh, exited a second time through the anus, and re-entered a third time into the tail. The bullet was recovered about six inches up the tail.
Here is the fox with Tuppence.
And here is how my taxidermist mounted her (oh er, Missus). The taxidermmist is Tony Armitstead in Darlington, google Sweeney Todd's fishing tackle shop.