He’s back!

The fox has returned.

Damian Clarke
Nov 12 · 2 min read

The fox came back today, and it was more brazen than ever — arriving on Sunday afternoon, in full daylight.

Generally foxes are shy. They were particularly shy around around the aristocracy who, until last year, had a penchant for dressing in scarlet jackets and hunting them down with dogs. Aristocrats have been quite rare in Hackney since Edward VI gave Hackney Manor (later Brooke House) to William Herbert in 1547, but the foxes have remained relatively shy of people. And for that reason, we usually let the chickens out to free range in the garden when we are at home.

A two storey manor house, its facade dominated by mismatched chimneys and ivy, the rafters at one end exposed by bomb damage.
A two storey manor house, its facade dominated by mismatched chimneys and ivy, the rafters at one end exposed by bomb damage.
Brooke House’s Southern elevation sometime after it was bombed during World War II and before it was demolished in the 1950s. (Photo courtesy of British History Online.)

Once again the fox’s arrival was heralded by frantic clucking from the chooks — both this time. Once again we were at the top of the house, and saw the fox from the bedroom window — and two frantic hens running towards the house.

Once again I ran out the door, down three stairs to the landing, around the corner, down the flight to the front door, along the short hall, shot back the bolts on the back door and raced out onto the back balcony only to see two frantic chickens and no fox. Mrs Albion had scared it away by clapping her hands and making shoo noises from the bedroom window.

Once again my grand plan to throw something at the fox had been thwarted.

We placated the chooks, who were quite disturbed. Mrs Albion picked up Sybil and put her in the fox proof pen. Basil is terrified of me, so I just walked behind her until she put herself in the fox proof pen.

I found the ultrasonic fox repeller and positioned it at the back of the garden — near the back fence where the fox disappeared — under the fence this time: down the hole, beside the pile of bricks, that leads to the neighbours garden.

I did not mark my territory.


© Damian Clarke 2019. The original post was first published on the Our Albion blog, 21 October 2006.

Our Albion

he story of a guy with a hammer, some nails and an old house to use them on.

Damian Clarke

Written by

I’m a writer and publisher working in Sydney, Australia and London, UK. I specialise in finance, technology, insurance, property, medicine and sustainability.

Our Albion

he story of a guy with a hammer, some nails and an old house to use them on.

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