And God made foxes..........why?

The fox. The cunning fox, Fantastic Mr. Fox.
The animal that sneaks into children's fiction on the fringes of acceptability. Not as cute as the fluffy bunny rabbit, or as eccentric as Toad of Toad Hall and definately not as drunk as a badger.
(I assume that badgers have a drink problem as the only ones you ever see are flat on their backs by the side of the road after a night on the lash.)
Foxes are not cute and have no redeeming features, especially when they decide that rather than go forage for food in the wild as nature I tended, that they would rather come down to their local Tesco Metro (otherwise known as my back garden) and visit my chickens and quails.
Having attempted to break in to my reinforced quail cage by burrowing underneath it or attempting to chew through it, I have had to put my quail inside my chicken run and have had to accept that my girls are not going to be as free range as normal.
In fact the other night I came downstairs to see the large ginger brush moving along the side of my garden only to bolt out into the field at my presence.
Then, suddenly, he stopped, turned, sat down and looked at me.
It was a look of arrogance. A look that I would have liked to have seen better through the crosshairs of a rifle sight but he knew that I didn't have one.
I couldn't even expect a bunch of Hooray Henries on horses to come flying across the field after a pack of nicotine starved beagles to give him a sound seeing to.
Eventually he got bored, turned and went back to the wood surrounding the old disused mink farm where he resides. "I know where you live" he thought " and I know you've got to sleep sometime and I've got a shopping list and you have a vast range of poultry of all shapes and sizes."

There is one Basil Brush I would like to hear go " Boom Boom!" In more ways than one.