For fox's sake
Catching up on some telly from the week in which I was unable to watch telly due to being "on lates". A Cutting Edge documentary on urban foxes looked right up my street, as urban foxes are, indeed, right up my street. (Being driven home at one in the morning in a BBC cab guaranteed at least one fox darting across the road. This is their time. London is their kind of town.) I think I have already confessed to putting food out for foxes in Reigate, which was a semi-rural kind of setting, and didn't feel too wrong. However, we're talking about chicken bones and meat offcuts and leftovers, all of which vanished, often, during the longer days, before our very eyes. This seemed like the circle of life. Never did we put out chocolate swiss roll, something I mention only because certain residents of Stoke Newington, the focus of this film, do just that. Although Meet The Foxes had the feel of a nature documentary about, well, foxes, it was actually about humans. And a pretty bloody unedifying lot we are.
While the anthropomorphised family of foxes ("Naughty Fox", "Shy Vixen", "Sickly Runt") went about their business of survival, which involves such antisocial behaviour as procreating and eating, this pathetic bunch of Nimbys showed all the characteristics of a species that have put this planet in such a parlous state - basically, understanding wild animals only terms of how "human" they are. (On which note, we are also keeping up with Meerkat Manor on BBC2, which they've bought in from Animal Planet, which takes the naming and humanising of wild animals to the degree of soap opera, but wins the day through sheer patience and access of footage gathered. Yes, they look like little men when they stand on their hind legs to sniff the air for danger, but they are not little men. They should be grateful they're not.)
The real villains of the Cutting Edge film were a family trying to be "green" (their word) by keeping chickens, for a supply of organic eggs. (I'd like to have seen what was in the feed they were putting out for these chickens before I am convinced by this organic self-certification, by the way.) Unfortunately, their idea of "green" and "organic" did not stretch to any wider understanding of the natural world. Foxes eat chickens. They bite their heads off and eat the nutritious brains, sometimes in bulk. It's what they do. If you are provocative enough to put out some chickens for them, as a kind of all-night buffet, in a pretty coop, leaving just a thin layer of chicken wire between predator and prey, you cannot then complain about the consequences in the morning. This bunch of arrogant, controlling, and ultimately bloodthirtsty twats did. For some reason, they felt that their hens had more rights than the foxes which actually live in Stoke Newington, even though their hens were artificially shipped in. Thus did they employ a "pest controller" (foxes are not protected and are listed as vermin) to sit in their bathroom all night with a rifle cocked and to shoot a pair dead, one a pregnant vixen, tempted out into open ground by some meat laid out by this sadistic, snuff-loving family. At no stage did the particularly gung-ho dad question the "organic" nature of having a bullet-headed middle aged man with a firearm sitting on his toilet in the night. This family, who make me despair for the human race, even had a cat. If their cat went out at night and killed a mouse, would they expect their cat to be shot by a paid marksman?
Another family had a fox trapped, "humanely", by the same firm. The poor little fella was left in a cage all night in the rain, shivering with cold and mortal terror, and they all came out to gaze at it, like an animal in a zoo. All for the crime of existing. It was taken away, like rubbish. At least the smaller of the kids seemed distressed to see it cowering there behind bars. An elderly lady opted for the same service when she had spotted a fox with mange. She had fantasised that it would be taken to the vet and made better. Unfortunately the pest controller informed her that the mange was too far gone, and that it would more likely be shot in the head with a pistol. She at least seemed alarmed by this, but didn't stop the man taking its quarry away. (Vets can treat mange at a very late stage. It is not necessarily a death sentence. Although left to its own devies, a mangy fox may die of an infection, which is nature's way.)
The teenage daughter of the bloodthirsty chicken-keeping "organic" family said this about the death of the hens: "It's just really unecessary." Too true. You smug, self-serving bullies.
At least there was a ray of humanity on show amid the mounting fox body count: two lovely old toothless chaps from the National Fox Welfare Society, who respectfully but firmly rescued an injured vixen (ahem, "Miss Fox") from beneath some decking and took it back to their sanctuary, where - according to the narrative bolted on by the filmmakers - it apparently recovered fully. The fox purporting to be "Miss Fox" was subsequently seen allowing one of these animal-loving saints to hold it like a baby, soothed by his kindly noises and the fact that she could sense that it meant her no harm. However, a glance at the indignant statement on the National Fox Welfare Society website reveals that the injured fox was actually put down due to internal injuries, the vixen being handled was one with mild brain damage that could not be released back into the wild, and the one released was a further fox that had been brought in for mange. How different from the "story" being told by the documentary (albeit the NFWA gentlemen were at least portrayed as gentle, humane, selfless souls, which, as volunteers, they surely are). The charity also made it clear that releasing a fox "back" into the wild ie. away from where it was caught (as suggested by this film), is cruel, as they are territorial creatures and would likely be killed in a foreign patch.
As the NFWA statement makes clear, this programme, set up to offer an insight into the urban fox, ended up playing into the hands of the hunt lobby, who would have us believe that this is a vicious, scavenging, indiscriminate killer, with no redeeming features, even though it keeps rat and mice populations down in urban areas. Tally ho.
posted by Andrew Collins @ 4:50 PM
11 Comments
Contact
Andrew at
11 Comments:
I don’t know how much it costs to get foxes executed but the man could probably have saved himself some money, his chickens and the foxes if he had spent a few more quid on a decent hut for the birds. Chicken wire like he had can only just keep the chickens in but not a fox out. I have seen that stuff torn by a cat so I don’t imagine a fox would have much problem. The chickens should spend their nights in a solid wooden coup.
The fox seems to be anthropomorphised into a cunning creature with an IQ of 162 and the siege skills of the SAS. It’s not; it’s a small doggy thing with a small doggy brain. It is entirely possible for an adult man to be cleverer than a fox. Probably not that man though. Some foxes came back to his garden which shows the total pointlessness of his actions; one territory is cleared so a new lot move in. He should employ professionals to get him eggs and leave the foxes alone.
note to self: must do a better job sharing the planet
Loads of foxes Hackney-way, the sound they make when rutting in gardens is akin, as the chap in the doc said, to the sound of baby-torture (I'd imagine).
First time I heard it I called the police, fearing I'd been aural witness to a rape in the middle of the night. The officer on the other end said it was probably a fox but they'd check it out.
"understanding wild animals only in terms of how "human" they are"
Why oh why do some humans have this overwhelming urge to "humanize" animals. Why can't they just respect them for what they are. Humanizing does no favours to either the animals or the humanizers.
I wonder if one of the reasons why "organic" family man doesn't protect his chickens properly is to give him an excuse to call his "pest controller" mate over so he can toss himself off over a rifle as he did in this programme.
And what right has he got to keep hens in Stoke Newington? His neighbours must be more pissed off by the constant clucking of these birds than the nocturnal screeching of foxes.
Our house backs onto a railway line and so we hear and see a fair few foxes (a great sight). Yes, occasionally they're a bit of a nuisance and spill bin-liner contents if we're careless enough to leave them in Reynard's way but these wild dogs have got just as much right to exist as we have, even in London. Domestic hens, however, don't belong in the city and Mr "Smug Organic" should buy his eggs from Waitrose.
I accept they have a right to be here, but I don't particularly like them. Maybe it's because I have two kids under 4 and I feel uneasy with the number of foxes we have. I came home from work one day and found a fox dead outside my back door. Council said it was my problem.
I don't have any time for people who feed them. This has resulted locally in instances where they have come houses, which some people have found a bit unnerving.
They survive fine without being fed, but feeding them is pretty selfish and is imposing your own likes onto your neighbours. Not everyone loves animals and people should respect that too.
"foxes are not protected and are listed as vermin"
I've always thought that animals are just animals. Why humans should call any animal species 'vermin' surprises me. The dictionary definition of the word -'destructive, annoying, or injurious to health' - is surely most applicable to us humans.
Anyway, a[nother] splendid review, Andrew. Thank you. (I'd be most interested to hear what your views are on the subject of zoos...)
Since you ask, I always loved animals as a kid, and thus loved going to zoos. Something deep down inside was sad when I saw an animal in a poky enclosure, but I was awed by seeing these animals up close, and used to get goosebumps on even approaching the pond where Whipsnade used to keep their enormous hippo. But as I grew up, the idea of animals being kept in cages, away from their natural habitat, began to apall me. I have written here before about the guilt I felt in adult life for visiting Sea World in San Francisco, and seeing my favaourite mammal the killer whale, and still feel really, as I was old enough to know better. I will never again give money to a zoo. It just isn't right. I'd rather know that polar bears are out there, living in their own habitat, than see one, up close, in Central Park Zoo in New York (which I did). I was in awe of it when I saw it, but let's face it, it was swimming around in a continual circuit, and that's not right. You don't even have to pay at Central Park Zoo (or you didn't when I last went). I never used to have such a low opinion of humans when I was growing up. Now I do.
I can't believe I am neighbours with Mr Numbnuts chicken keeper who employed an over-aged and over-weight Grant Mitchell in the SAS to slot a few foxes.
Listen, I was not a huge fan of the local foxes: one attacked my cat. But even I understand that we have the foxes to thank for keeping the rat population down.
I watched in amazement as Bea trapped a fox because it had the utter temerity of pooing in her garden; and was astounded that some other ding-bat wanted an injured fox out from under his raised wood patio, but didn't want any of the planks removed to hoik Mr Fox out.
I haven't seen any foxes lately and wonder if Bea & Mr Numbnuts have managed to kill them all.
Tossers.
Death to lousy fox vermin. We have as much right to be here as they do.
It is sad that Mr. Chicken Farmer could not construct a secure hen house. He preferred to spend his money on the fat boy with the gun rather than a carpenter. This is a story of our passive, wrong-headed times.
Post a Comment
<< Home