And that I have a fox problem.
Well, turns out I really love my neighbour's chooks too.
I heard a dreadful squawking today at about ten in the morning. It was raining, I'd just let our chooks out, Adam and the kids were all out.
I went rushing out, and there was a fox, dragging off my favourite neighbourhood Casanova, that gorgeous guy below.
I yelled, of course, then ran and grabbed an axe from the garage. And also a mattock, nearest thing to hand. I charged after the fox, who dragged Casanova under a bush. I almost reached them and the fox let go and ran off. He turned around and had a look at me and I tried to look dangerous, he ran off anyway.
I went back to the bush and I could see poor Casanova moving slightly. There were feathers (his) everywhere, he'd put up a very good fight. I knew I was going to have to bang him on the head to put him out of his misery, and just as I was gathering up my courage, he stood up. And walked away. He didn't look so hot, so after I got over the shock of seeing him undead, I followed him and tried to encourage him back into his coop with some scraps but he just wanted to hang out quietly on his own and think about his lucky escape.
I ushered all our chooks back into their run (with an axe in one hand and a mattock in the other) and all my neighbour's chooks back into theirs (no one was home over there.)
Casanova stayed under cover all day and retired early to the coop.
I hope he's OK.
And for the first time in my life I wished like crazy I'd had a gun and a license.
In other news: everyone under this roof slept through the night last night. All night.
Any more sleep and that fox had better watch it, I'll be greased lightning with an axe and a mattock. Grrr.