We had vegetable lasagne for dinner, the three of us, the baby's mashed up roughly with a spoon. The move onto solid food has been surprisingly easy and the baby seems willing to eat whatever we put in front of her, which is pretty impressive seeing as how she has no teeth.
When we were finished Lynne glanced out of the window and said, 'Oh, the fox is dead.' Looking out I saw a fox lying on the opposite pavement in broad daylight, it's head at a funny angle.
'What should we do?'
'We can't leave it there.'
I went out with a bin bag. It was odd that the fox was just lying out there on the pavement, foxes usually take themselves away to some little den to die in private, so I think there must have been some violence involved. It was lying among some little broken pieces of polystyrene and in the gutter was a length of metal, like a kick-stand broken off a bike, with a twisted bit of spring round one end and tape round the other. I don't really know how the fox would have been killed used these bits and pieces, maybe it was just hit by a car. This is as far as my forensic investigation took me.
I picked up the dead fox by the tail. It was absolutely rigid, and its fur was unpleasantly wet. Bear in mind that I am a city boy here. Its tail stuck out stiffly so that the corpse wouldn't fit in my fucking bin bag. I shouted up to Lynne, who was looking out the window.
'I need another bin bag!'
She didn't open the window. She waved.
I mimed putting the fox in another bag, double-bagging if you will, and held up two fingers. Lynne disappeared from the window. I stood there, with a dead fox half falling out of it and my hands held out awkwardly to my sides. I felt like they were streaked with vermin and death. It looked like I was surrendering.
A woman walked by. 'What's that?' She winkled her nose.
'It's a dead fox.'
'Did you kill it?'
'No, I'm... I'm waiting for my wife to get me another bin bag.'
I was sad about the fox. I used to see it cutting about in the street at dusk or early in the morning, and I liked that, those times when there was nobody about but me and the fox. It's not all bad though, the other day I saw a fox cub in the window of a derelict flat. There was work being done on it, and some vixen must have made a den in there when work stopped for winter (or the recession) and littered amongst the scaffolding and pulled-up floorboards. So it all goes around, I suppose.
When we were finished Lynne glanced out of the window and said, 'Oh, the fox is dead.' Looking out I saw a fox lying on the opposite pavement in broad daylight, it's head at a funny angle.
'What should we do?'
'We can't leave it there.'
I went out with a bin bag. It was odd that the fox was just lying out there on the pavement, foxes usually take themselves away to some little den to die in private, so I think there must have been some violence involved. It was lying among some little broken pieces of polystyrene and in the gutter was a length of metal, like a kick-stand broken off a bike, with a twisted bit of spring round one end and tape round the other. I don't really know how the fox would have been killed used these bits and pieces, maybe it was just hit by a car. This is as far as my forensic investigation took me.
I picked up the dead fox by the tail. It was absolutely rigid, and its fur was unpleasantly wet. Bear in mind that I am a city boy here. Its tail stuck out stiffly so that the corpse wouldn't fit in my fucking bin bag. I shouted up to Lynne, who was looking out the window.
'I need another bin bag!'
She didn't open the window. She waved.
I mimed putting the fox in another bag, double-bagging if you will, and held up two fingers. Lynne disappeared from the window. I stood there, with a dead fox half falling out of it and my hands held out awkwardly to my sides. I felt like they were streaked with vermin and death. It looked like I was surrendering.
A woman walked by. 'What's that?' She winkled her nose.
'It's a dead fox.'
'Did you kill it?'
'No, I'm... I'm waiting for my wife to get me another bin bag.'
I was sad about the fox. I used to see it cutting about in the street at dusk or early in the morning, and I liked that, those times when there was nobody about but me and the fox. It's not all bad though, the other day I saw a fox cub in the window of a derelict flat. There was work being done on it, and some vixen must have made a den in there when work stopped for winter (or the recession) and littered amongst the scaffolding and pulled-up floorboards. So it all goes around, I suppose.
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