Some matter more, whatever the size.
Last year I lost a lovely Chinese Water Deer head, my first and probably my only one, to the foxes, which turned into a bit of a saga.
For anyone who followed it, that eventually became Operation Splat and later Foxy Five.
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...
A fifth fox has been harassing my boys’ chickens and rabbits for some time. The first four were dealt with without any real trouble, but this one has made a fool of me. I have lost plenty of sleep over it: not through worry, but through fruitless nights in the chair. He is shy, inconsistent, and astonishingly quick, typically spending less than 30 seconds between entering and leaving. Some nights there is nothing at all, then the following night he will appear five times.

I left out a spread of bait, including dead rats as they dropped, squirrels, rabbits, and a few old...
A day out with Malc on the CWD had been arranged last autumn to try and replace it, but we deferred until next year. With his wife seriously ill the only sensible thing was to say not to worry about dates. Malc is very well regarded here and I look forward to sharing a day in the field with him in due course.
Today I have just found out I’m off after CWD this weekend, my last opportunity at the end of the season, due to fallow and other commitments. I am so very excited to be heading out and, if I’m fortunate enough to take a beast, I’ll clean the head up for sure, doe, cull buck or trophy. Not for the trophy itself, but for the story behind it. Crafty foxes and late nights.
That’s what a head like this ends up being. Not trophies of aggrandisement but markers for the mornings out, the mistakes, the people you’ve shared the ground with, and, having started aged 12, the years it takes to get there.
Conversations with oneself.