Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
have brought it down. As it was, they just watched it at work, all cat-rodent harmony like a
bloody Disney film or something. Unfortunately for them though this big love-in was short-
lived; the weasel arrived.
I was genuinely excited by the weasel. He was, and let me make this quite clear, a nasty
little bleeder. Venture out at night and the screams from various creatures being attacked and,
as is the weasel's wont, decapitated were really quite horrific coming at you out of the chilly,
misty night air. I imagine it was like Victorian London when the Ripper was on the prowl.
But to give him his due, since his arrival there had been no sign of the rat. Now whether the
weasel had given him a right good seeing to and the rat was no more, or whether the rat had
taken one look at the weasel, who was about a quarter of the rat's size and thought, 'sod this
for a game of soldiers, I'm off' is unclear as I didn't find any rat remains, but I wasn't quib-
bling.
What was clear, however, was that our set up - animals, fruit, warmth and so on - was at-
tracting the hunters of the animal world. As winter continued to bite and natural prey was
thin on the ground we were offering relatively rich pickings to the suffering local carnivores;
pretty soon we would be literally chasing the wolves from the door.
I hadn't seen or even heard a fox since we had moved in; I'd come to believe that like coffee
shops, immaculately kept 4x4s and socialism, foxes had become an entirely urban phenomen-
on. They are here though, just a little less brash than their town-dwelling cousins, and the
big freeze was bringing them out of their shells. Toby heard it first and possibly even saw it
through the door as it set off the night-time security lights, so as I came rushing downstairs to
see what the fuss was all about and let Toby out into the cold night, the fox may already have
scarpered. We heard it, though, a few minutes later - that arresting fox screech that sounds
like a teething baby - but it was clearly moving further away, with Toby now patrolling the
garden and making enough of a racket to act as deterrent.
It was a rare foray near to humans for a local fox, but needs must and he wasn't the only one
who was suffering. Most of the bird population around here was too. The ponds and lakes
were frozen over, the river running a fearfully dangerous current and the ground was, more
often than not, covered in snow. We were trying to feed them but what with the cats jumping
onto the bird table and Toby also trying to eat the bread we were leaving out, their rewards
were marginal.
And for some it seems, it was all getting a little too much.
Apparently some birds cannot make the distinction between what is genuine countryside
and what, sadly, is a reflection. Either that or they had just had enough of the cold weather
and, kamikaze style, were flying into the large lounge windows on a regular basis. There
would be a resounding thud, then echoes through the house as the poor creature bounced back
off, dazed and confused. Some of the smaller ones even died. The bigger ones eventually
