I lost my CWD trophy buck’s skull to foxes last spring. Was I allowed to avenge this? No.
However, roll on nine months, and the foxes made the mistake of upsetting the chickens and rabbits. The trail cams had been catching them slipping onto our land for weeks, but it was not until Sunday lunch was interrupted that it became serious.
The garden was full of life. Pheasants, moorhens, coots, and small birds crowded the feeders, and the Orpington Buffs were enjoying patches of winter sun. Then I saw it: a fox breaking cover. Bedlam. Birds everywhere. The fox was running amok through the garden, scattering anything with wings. I ran to fetch and assemble the rifle, reached the open window (the boys’ squirrel duty post), and just caught a half-hidden dog fox at 25 yards. One .22LR round ended it.
We assumed that was the end of it. It was not.
On Monday night the trail cams picked up a second fox, the vixen, coming back in. I was tasked with dealing with her. I decided to wait up despite the intermittent drizzle. It was quiet. Too quiet. I drifted off in the chair.
At 0400hrs the alarm went. I lifted the rifle and brought it to bear, only to find a black cat had triggered the alert. Normally I would loose the hounds, but not at that hour. I settled back down.
Forty-five minutes later the alarm sounded again. This time it was her. The vixen stepped into view. Through the Pard I settled the crosshairs on her ear hole, and the subsonic shot cracked into the night air. She crumpled. I checked the time, climbed back into bed, and kept one eye on the looming 0600 alarm.
However, roll on nine months, and the foxes made the mistake of upsetting the chickens and rabbits. The trail cams had been catching them slipping onto our land for weeks, but it was not until Sunday lunch was interrupted that it became serious.
The garden was full of life. Pheasants, moorhens, coots, and small birds crowded the feeders, and the Orpington Buffs were enjoying patches of winter sun. Then I saw it: a fox breaking cover. Bedlam. Birds everywhere. The fox was running amok through the garden, scattering anything with wings. I ran to fetch and assemble the rifle, reached the open window (the boys’ squirrel duty post), and just caught a half-hidden dog fox at 25 yards. One .22LR round ended it.
We assumed that was the end of it. It was not.
On Monday night the trail cams picked up a second fox, the vixen, coming back in. I was tasked with dealing with her. I decided to wait up despite the intermittent drizzle. It was quiet. Too quiet. I drifted off in the chair.
At 0400hrs the alarm went. I lifted the rifle and brought it to bear, only to find a black cat had triggered the alert. Normally I would loose the hounds, but not at that hour. I settled back down.
Forty-five minutes later the alarm sounded again. This time it was her. The vixen stepped into view. Through the Pard I settled the crosshairs on her ear hole, and the subsonic shot cracked into the night air. She crumpled. I checked the time, climbed back into bed, and kept one eye on the looming 0600 alarm.
