The Farthing Wood Collection 1

by Colin Dann

  ‘Chickens!’ exclaimed Fox.

  ‘The same,’ said Tawny Owl.

  ‘But the racket! They’ll wake the entire neighbourhood.’ Despite his protestations, Fox was having the utmost difficulty in preventing himself from drooling. The thought of food had an overwhelming effect on him.

  ‘There might be enough for all of us,’ Badger hinted.

  ‘What? You can’t mean it, Badger. You wouldn’t con-done such –’ Fox broke off. He knew he was blustering; playing a part – and so did Badger. For it had been the first thought to cross his mind, too. After all, in straitened circumstances, one has to consider any opening.

  ‘I wonder how they get them out?’ Badger muttered.

  ‘Come and see,’ Tawny Owl said.

  They followed him further along the road, the other birds accompanying. Owl perched on the fence he had told them about.

  ‘There’s certainly a strong scent of fox,’ said Badger.

  ‘And also of chickens,’ Fox whispered.

  ‘Carefully now,’ Tawny Owl warned the two animals as he, Kestrel and Whistler fluttered into the grounds.

  Fox and Badger looked at the fence. ‘Can you jump it?’ Badger asked.

  ‘If I were fully fit – nothing easier. But a lot of my stamina’s gone. However, I’ll have a jolly good try. What about you?’

  ‘I’m no jumper,’ answered Badger. ‘You go ahead, and I’ll scout round the outside of the fence and see if there’s another way in. I’ll join you inside.’

  He watched Fox backing away from the fence in order to give himself a good run up to it. Then he saw him leap upwards, just scraping the fence-top, before he landed the other side. Badger was now alone on the road side of the fence. He shuffled along its length, looking for a suitable opening. But there seemed to be no way through. There was a gate halfway along one side which, of course, was closed. He paused, wondering whether he should call out. Just then there broke out the most appalling din. There was a loud crash, immediately followed by the most frenzied squawks and a clattering of wings. Badger correctly surmised that one of the foxes was attempting to break in to the coop. The noise grew absolutely deafening, and then he heard a barking and human shouts.

  Cowering against the fence, not knowing if he should stay or run, Badger saw two foxes leap the fence into the road, a hen dangling from each of their pairs of jaws. Then they were off, racing down the road as fast as their burdens would allow them. Suddenly he heard three or four gunshots in quick succession and a very scared third fox – his own friend – leapt the fence almost on top of him.

  ‘Quick!’ Fox shouted hoarsely. ‘This way!’ And he raced away in the opposite direction to that taken by the two raiders. Badger sloped after him as fast as he could go – and in the nick of time. Out of the gate in the fence came a huge, ferocious and furious dog followed by two men – one young, one elderly – each with shotguns. The dog instantly set off after the foxes carrying the chickens. These animals were badly hampered by their heavy loads and the dog gained on them quickly. But the two men were taking aim with their guns. One called the dog, which checked its headlong rush, and then two more shots rang out. The two foxes dropped like stones and rolled over in the snow, the maimed chickens flapping helplessly in the gutter.

  The men went to examine the fox carcasses, and seemed satisfied with their work. The younger one put the injured chickens out of their misery, and picked them up by their feet. The dog pranced around him, tongue lolling and tail wagging.

  From their hiding-place under a parked car, Badger and Fox watched the men and their dog trudge back to the garden, their hearts beating wildly. Only when the gate in the fence had once again been fastened after them did they dare to move.

  ‘Phew!’ gasped Fox who really had felt in fear of his life. ‘That was a little too close for my liking.’

  ‘Yes,’ Badger agreed. ‘It’s certainly a good thing we hadn’t reached that garden first.’

  ‘But I don’t know if I should have tried what those poor devils did anyway,’ Fox confessed. ‘I’ve never been one for taking such prey.’

  ‘Maybe they were desperate like us,’ Badger suggested pointedly.’

  Fox ignored him. ‘Where are the birds?’ he asked.

  Tawny Owl was the first to find them. ‘So much for your ideas of invading gardens,’ he said to Badger crossly. ‘Could have had us all killed.’

  ‘You were the one to tell us about the chickens,’ said Badger. ‘We still haven’t investigated my suggestion.’

  ‘I don’t think I could go back in there again,’ Fox said. ‘Is the coast clear now, Owl?’

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Those foxes turned the coop over and the stupid hens are running all over the place. The men will have their work cut out collecting them together again.’

  ‘Give them time,’ said Badger. ‘After coming all this way we can’t go back with nothing.’

  ‘Will you keep us informed please, Owl?’ Fox asked. ‘Badger and I will wait here.’

  ‘Can’t see the point,’ muttered Tawny Owl. ‘Badger can’t get into the garden anyway.’

  Badger looked at Fox. ‘This garden is our only chance,’ he said. ‘It’s the only one with a fence. Are you sure you couldn’t make just one more jump?’

  Fox wavered. It seemed as if he was fated always to be the one on whom everyone else depended.

  ‘You know I would gladly go if I could get in,’ Badger added. ‘But I’ve looked all round for a hole and there’s just nothing.’

  Fox smiled a little smile of resignation. ‘It looks as if I have no choice really, doesn’t it?’ he said.

  So Tawny Owl flew back to watch the proceedings, and Fox and Badger huddled together under the car again to wait. Some time passed and they heard nothing. Badger was restless. ‘I think I’ll just wander a little further along this road just in case there’s anything of interest,’ he told his companion.

  He had not been gone long when Fox heard a familiar whistle in the air, and then saw the long thin legs of Whistler standing by the car. He emerged from his hideaway.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ said the heron. ‘I’ve some excellent news for you. The men have hung the dead chickens up in a shed and I think, if you really make yourself as flat as possible you could get under the door. There’s a gap just about wide enough for you.’

  Fox’s ears pricked up. ‘Things are looking up,’ he replied. ‘Is all quiet again?’

  ‘The men have set all to rights and returned inside,’ Whistler answered.

  ‘And the dog?’

  ‘Er – chained to a kennel,’ said Whistler. ‘But I’m sure you can handle him.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ cried Fox in exasperation. ‘Am I, in my state, a match for a dog of that size?’

  ‘Not physically, of course,’ said the heron calmly. ‘But we all know of your powers of persuasion.’

  ‘I’m afraid you must have too high an opinion of me,’ Fox returned, shaking his head. ‘You may have heard of a previous exploit of mine, regarding a bull-mastiff – a stupid dog. But this situation is altogether different. This dog, whatever it is, is twice the size with twice the strength whereas I – well, you have only to look at me.’

  ‘You are indeed underweight,’ Whistler acknowledged. ‘But that is to be expected. Are you saying your mental faculties have been affected by the winter?’

  ‘It’s a question of spirit and courage – and the will to do something,’ Fox said wearily. ‘I’m simply not the same animal any more. On the journey from Farthing Wood I had plenty of spirit. Determination, too. I had a purpose. It’s different now.

  ‘But, my dear Fox,’ Whistler said with a worried look. ‘I can’t bear to hear you talk like this. You, above all my friends, have always been an example of tenacity and resourcefulness and resolution to look up to. You inspired the others – you still do. And surely you still have a purpose. To survive. Think of Vixen if not of yourself.’

  For a moment something of
the old look returned to Fox’s poor haggard face. He was thinking of what he had been like when Vixen had first encountered him. The pitiful shadow of himself that he now was would never have won her regard and admiration as he had then. Then his eyes glazed over again.

  ‘No, it’s no use, Whistler,’ he said lamely. ‘I’m sorry if I’m letting you down but I’m beaten before I start. I’ll simply wilt in front of that monster.’

  Whistler was really alarmed at Fox’s lack of motivation. Even his mention of Vixen had not done the trick. He flew back to Tawny Owl and Kestrel for advice.

  ‘Yes, he’s taken things very hard,’ Kestrel said when the heron had related his conversation.

  ‘Humph!’ snorted Tawny Owl. ‘I believe in calling things by their proper name. His spirit is completely broken, and he’s no longer the brave leader we once knew.’

  ‘How can we help him?’ asked Whistler. ‘It’s awful to see him cowering in the road under that car.’

  ‘Only a full stomach and the arrival of Spring can help him now,’ said Tawny Owl. ‘He’s a beaten animal.’

  Unbeknown to the three birds, the subject of their discussion had crept up to the garden fence and could overhear every word. If the scene had been pre-arranged it could not have had a better result. Fox’s pride, battered as it was, refused to accept the verdict of Tawny Owl, and his body visibly stiffened. He thought again of Vixen and what it would mean to her if he failed. He could not bear to sink in her estimation. He pulled himself more erect and backed away from the fence.

  The birds were still talking when they saw him leap the fence for the third time, but with an added grace that made them fall silent. He went warily across the centre of the grounds of the house, giving the re-established chicken coop a wide berth. He saw the dog, half in and half out of the kennel, with its head on its paws, and he approached cautiously step by step. Having convinced himself that it was dozing, Fox looked around for the shed Whistler had described to him. He soon found it.

  In his emaciated state it was no problem for him to crawl under the door. The chickens were hanging by the feet from nails in the side of the shed. Fox pulled one free and backed under the gap again. Here he met with a difficulty for the chicken got caught. However, with a backward tug, he wrenched it free and ran back to the fence.

  The birds fully expected him to jump the fence and be satisfied with his good luck. But Fox had evidently decided to do things in style. He dropped the chicken, then loped back to the shed and scrambled under the door again. All this time the dog had not stirred a muscle. Fox found the second hen to be much larger and needed two pulls to bring it to the ground. Back he came under the shed door and then the larger hen became firmly wedged. Fox tugged it this way and that, but its plump body would not shift. Whistler was on the point of flying over to tell Fox that perhaps it would be best to be content with one and to get away while the going was good, when Badger’s voice was heard calling beyond the fence.

  ‘Fox! Owl! Are you there?’ he was saying.

  ‘We’re here,’ hissed Tawny Owl from his branch. ‘Be quiet. The dog’s asleep.’

  ‘I’ve found a regular dump of food,’ he called back excitedly, regardless of the warning. ‘At the end of the road. Come and look.’

  Kestrel flew over to the fence and perched on the top. ‘Wait a moment, Badger,’ he whispered. ‘Fox is in the grounds collecting chickens.’

  Badger’s jaw dropped. He could not comprehend that Kestrel was referring to the two dead ones. ‘He must be mad!’ he cried. ‘Does he want to commit suicide?’

  Kestrel calmed him down. ‘It’s not what you think,’ he said. ‘We’ll explain later.’

  Fox had given the second chicken a particularly vicious wrench and it was almost free. But at that moment the dog awoke and yawned widely. It stood up, shaking its body vigorously. Fox heard the sound and froze. How far did that chain stretch? He peered round the side of the shed. The dog was some twenty feet away, but Fox had no idea if it could reach him if it made a lunge. He waited. The dog began to sniff the snow all round its kennel. It found something of interest and sniffed harder, running in looping patterns through the snow, its nose always on the ground. Fox watched it go to the full length of its chain in the direction opposite to where he was standing and gulped as he saw how far it stretched. If it came his way it could easily reach him. He waited no longer. He heaved the chicken free and ran almost in front of the dog as it was returning on the axis of the chain’s length. It saw him and immediately started to bark again.

  Fox raced for the fence and cleared it easily. ‘Take this!’ he cried as he dropped the chicken on the road side of the fence by Badger. Then, incredibly, in the teeth of danger he backed away for yet another jump. The dog was barking incessantly as Fox leapt the fence again to snap up the chicken he had left behind. Lights were appearing once more in the house. But Fox was up and over the fence for the last time with the second chicken in his jaws. Without hesitation he took the opposite direction to that taken by the first two foxes, leaving poor Badger to struggle after him with the heavier hen. Tawny Owl, Kestrel and Whistler swooped over the fence behind them.

  ‘The Park’s that way!’ called Tawny Owl. ‘You’re going in the wrong direction!’ But Fox did not seem to hear.

  Badger had no idea what Fox had in mind, but he gamely followed him as quickly as he could, expecting every minute to find the huge dog bearing down on him from behind. But though the deafening barking continued, no dog – nor men – appeared. Then suddenly the noise ceased. It seemed as if this is what Fox had been expecting, for he immediately stopped running and dropped the chicken, the better to take some deep breaths while he waited for Badger to catch him up.

  ‘Not a bad haul, eh?’ he said coolly to his friends as they bunched together. He seemed his old self.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Badger.

  ‘Understand what?’

  ‘Why we weren’t chased,’ Badger panted.

  ‘It’s obvious,’ Fox confided. ‘When the men came out of the house the second time they expected to see their chicken coop overturned again. As soon as they saw it intact, with no more chickens missing, they assumed the dog’s barking had driven off any further prowlers. How could they know I knew about the dead hens in the shed?’

  ‘Bravo, Fox. You’re to be congratulated,’ said Whistler. ‘And you’ve proved you’re still a shade sharper than most of us.’

  Tawny Owl disliked anyone to be overpraised when he considered he had exceptional abilities himself. ‘Oh well,’ he said huffily, ‘when you’re down as low as you can be, you can only go upwards.’

  The others glared at him but Fox, in his new-found confidence, only chuckled.

  ‘Yet a little cunning can go a long way,’ he said.

  Badger was delighted at Fox’s reinstatement as the animals’ resourceful leader, and Whistler politely failed to mention that the idea of stealing the dead chickens had been his.

  ‘I also have found something of interest,’ Badger then announced.

  ‘Ah yes – your discovery,’ murmured Kestrel. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I hope it’s something of value to our smaller friends,’ said Fox. ‘We mustn’t forget that we still have nothing for them, and that is why I didn’t turn back for the Park.’

  ‘Well, come and see,’ said Badger excitedly. ‘There’s everything we need.’

  ‘How far is it?’ Fox wanted to know. ‘I feel quite worn out.’

  ‘Of course you are, jumping backwards and forwards over that fence all those times – without mentioning the journey here. But it’s not far along the road. We’ve run most of the way already.’

  ‘You take the others with you, and show them what you want them to carry back,’ Fox suggested. ‘I’ll wait here and take a breather and look after the chickens.’

  So Badger, accompanied by the three birds, proceeded to the end of the road, where in fact a small general store that served the neighbourhood was situated. T
o the rear of the shop was a yard where discarded cartons, packets and unwanted stocks abounded. Amongst this was enough greenstuff to feed all the rabbits and hares comfortably, wasted bags of mixed nuts left over from Christmas and even quantities of pet food such as millet sprays for cage birds. Badger seemed to think the voles and fieldmice might like the latter, while the squirrels would be delighted by the nuts.

  What would have been the astonishment of any human awake at that hour and looking on, to see a small aerial procession of a hawk, an owl and a heron on their way back to the Nature Reserve carrying their assorted gifts? Kestrel led the way with a collection of millet sprays in his pointed beak, then came Tawny Owl, a little self-consciously, laden with string bags of nuts – one in his beak and one clutched in his talons – and finally Whistler, his huge bill stuffed with cabbage leaves and a selection of greenery.

  Badger watched them on their way and then rejoined Fox. ‘I thought you might have indulged in a mouthful or two while you were waiting,’ he said, referring to the chickens, ‘just to keep your strength up.’

  ‘No,’ said Fox. ‘We shall all feast together when we get back to the Park. You and I and Vixen and Weasel. And, of course, Owl and Kestrel, though I know Whistler prefers fish. But first we have a journey ahead of us.’

  Dawn was threatening to break as they went back along the road, Fox now carrying the larger chicken. They passed the scene of the raid and then the two dead foxes. Now they were just stiff corpses in the snow, lying where they had dropped and staining its whiteness with their blood.

  ‘These hens should have been theirs by rights,’ Fox muttered as he paused briefly at the sight. ‘It could have been Vixen and me.’ Then they went on, crossed the ditch, and re-entered the Park at the same point.

  It was well on into the morning when the two animals, after frequent stops to rest from their loads, arrived back at Badger’s set.

  ‘Will you eat with me?’ Badger asked, ‘or shall I come and join you and Vixen?’