There were lively scenes at the allotment the other day. The Old Man was refurbishing one of the greenhouses, getting it ready for next Spring's tomatoes, when he heard a big kerfuffle from the hens. This is broad daylight mind, midday. He came out of the greenhouse and there's a fox, with a hen in it's mouth, trotting away, quite the thing. He gave chase but, as you'd expect, Urban Reynard was sprightlier than a man in his late 60s, and got away - with the hen.
We're down to 11 chickens now. A few days ago, two of them we're found with their heads chewed off. This may have been a mink, or perhaps a feral cat.
We're beginning to question the future of poultry keeping down our way.