TURKEY TRAGEDY FORCES RE-THINK

.. AS VIXEN STRIKES

  THE clumps of feathers told me all I needed to know.  It's happened again. Another tragedy and more loss of life but this time the villain was not a badger but a fox ... a vixen with hungry cubs to feed - and before all you townies go "aaaah, cute" with a bit of luck she will have carried out her last kill by dawn tomorrow.
 As regulars of Soho2Silo know, I'm still reeling from the badger attack which took out a goose and her entire clutch of eggs last week and while I agonised over what I could do about the turkey who chose to set up a secret nest near the hen pen (http://soho2silo.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/nature-or-nurture.html) I did nothing. I decided to leave it to Nature and now there are self-recriminations.

TELL TALE SIGNS: The clumps of feathers reveal tragedy

 The unfortunate goose from Sweden was called Queenie but my poor slain turkey didn't even have a name. She was one of the Three Degrees, a trio of Bourbon Reds I bought from a farm in North Yorkshire.
 In the meantime some dear friends bought me an incubator and while I was tempted to take the turkey's eggs hubby pleaded with me to let her continue and so she did until the early hours of this morning. And no, I'm not blaming he-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is and in truth he is just as upset as me at the loss of more stock because we are fond of them all.
 My bedroom overlooks the scene of the crime but since I have taken to going to bed listening to BBC Radio 4 on an evening to drown out the noise of the clog dancers who inhabit the attic (more about them another time) I heard nothing.
 This morning I called in my own CSI expert and he surveyed the scene for around half an hour and went off down a bankside leading on to a river. When he returned he gave me his assessment.
 The killer was a vixen who, judging from the clumps of feathers around the nest site, had struggled to rip the Bourbon Red turkey from her nest. He says it was a vixen because a dog fox would have eaten his kill just a few yards away but this fox took the bird all the way to her lair where she would have fed her waiting cubs.

SURROGATE MUM:  Bourbon Red turkey
sits on a variety of eggs due to hatch next week

 He followed the trail of feathers through the woodland and down to the riverside, then along to a small hump-backed bridge, over a road and into some more woodland. By all accounts my turkey must have put up one hell of a struggle because of the clumps of feathers at various points en route. Delicate paw marks also revealed the sex of the fox.
 And there's more - the gamekeeper reckons she will be back and, if wanted, he will be lying in wait. I nodded vigorously. Unlike badgers, foxes are not a protected species and, as any farmer will tell you, they are a pest and should be shot on sight. No time for sentiment. I am not going to lose any more of my animals if I can help it.
 As usual, where there is death there is also hope of life. The eggs were left intact and I gathered them all up and shoved them under a turkey which is nesting in the stable. Her own eggs are in the incubator and at the moment she is sitting on a couple of abandoned goose eggs and half a dozen chicken eggs as well as a pot egg.

NEST EGG: The start of another turkey nest

 I don't know if the eggs left behind by her sister  are still in a condition to hatch - only time will tell but whatever happens you will be among the first to know.
 And there's still more - the last of the Three Degrees has started laying eggs in her own secret nest very close to the house. The gamekeeper has advised that as soon as she starts sitting on her batch of eggs I should intervene and move them all into the stable where they will be safely locked up every evening. I am going to take his advice - at the moment I feel it is better to nurture rather than leave it to Nature.
 What do you think?

WHO KILLED MR FOX?

.. Another mystery and a 'brush' with death

 LIVING in the countryside tends to bring out a very competitive streak between me and my other half when it comes to observing wildlife, and since I'm the one who spends most of my time in the wonderful Scottish Borders while he toils over a hot stove at his London restaurant, it is usually me who clocks up more observational firsts.
 I delight in calling him at 6.45am to say I've just spotted four deer crossing the lawn or later in the day telephone to say I'm watching two Peregrine falcons soar in the afternoon sun. Occasionally he'll get the odd text or email and sometimes photographic evidence of other delights I've seen as I bimble around the countryside.
 Most of my encounters are pleasant or gobsmackingly awesome although I do admit on meeting my first badger we both freaked out and turned in opposite directions running as though the Devil himself was snapping at our heels. I always imagined badgers to be cuddly, about the size of a rabbit but this one looked like a clinically obese Staffordshire Bull on growth hormone treatment.
 So I have to admit feeling some mild irritation and a touch of jealousy yesterday when hubby came hurtling into the house breathless urging me to come outside. In between gasps for oxygen he gabbled that he'd found a fox and that it was injured and possibly still alive.

DEAD OR ALIVE? Mr Fox

 I tried to adopt a singularly unimpressed expression as I slipped into my boots, sighed and followed him. However, I have to admit I was well impressed with his find as it was slightly off the beaten track and could not be seen unless you wandered into the edge of some woodland.
 Since no one was prepared to venture right up to the beast to check for signs of life, it was difficult to judge if it was dead or barely alive and in the twilight our eyes began playing tricks as we thought we saw its chest rising slightly. Thankfully I had my walking stick with me - a rather grand, carved affair presented by a tribal elder in Darfur when I travelled to Sudan on a peace initiative several years ago. So I gingerly prodded the fox several times before declaring the animal well and truly dead.
 We left the spot wondering how he had expired and noted there was a burrow of sorts in the ground by his nose. Perhaps it was his home, or maybe he was a she, a vixen, and if so could there be young cubs in the hole? Feeling protective towards my geese, turkeys and hens I needed to counsel a higher authority on the matter and so phoned a local gamekeeper relaying the drama. It was dusk so we all agreed to meet in the morning and at 8am we were surveying the scene.

WHODUNNIT: Another mystery
grips the Soho 2 Silo crew

 Our man in tweeds and plus-fours came to the conclusion this was an old dog fox, pointing to the grey hairs around its face. Without a second thought he bent down and picked up the corpse for a quick inspection as we collectively stepped back in awe and marvelled at his daring. He declared the fox dead and pointed to some decomposition on its jawline as evidence it had died at least two days earlier. Checking its hindquarters he deduced the animal had been hit by a vehicle and must have crawled its way from the roadside into the woodland, possibly lying starving and injured for several days. The hole it lay next to was the entrance to a rabbit warren and he pointed to several other exits nearby. Summing up he said it was likely it had waited by the hole in a desperate bid to get some food but had been too weak, possibly from internal injuries, to survive.
 We were all well impressed with the gamekeeper's CSI-style analysis and then, knowing we keep livestock, he warned that the body should be buried quickly before the smell of decomposition attracts more foxes to the area. At that point all eyes switched focus onto he-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is ... well he did find it first place, didn't he? And so, after taking a pick and shovel from his workshop he headed back towards the body but just before he set off on his grave-digging mission I said it would be a shame to bury the tail as well since it was so bushy and quite magnificent.

TAIL END: Prized possession

 Mr Fox's brush is now sitting in my freezer to preserve its amazing condition. Tomorrow I must find a local taxidermist to treat the tail, pictured left,  which I think will look rather fetching on my bush hat although once my daughter reads this I've no doubt she will have designs on it as well!