Foxes are cunning, funny and cute ... except in Australia. By Catherine Watson
THERE are no foxes in New Zealand. When I grew up they were mythical creatures to me, like unicorns or dragons, only encountered in English storybooks and songs.
Around the world, foxes are portrayed in song, story and cartoons as cunning, funny and cute. Except in Australia.
One of the songs we learned at school went like this:
A fox went out on a chase last night
He prayed to the moon to give him light
For he had many a mile to go that night
Before he reached his hom-o, hom-o, ho-o-mo!
(These days you’d have to be careful where you sang that song!)
THERE are no foxes in New Zealand. When I grew up they were mythical creatures to me, like unicorns or dragons, only encountered in English storybooks and songs.
Around the world, foxes are portrayed in song, story and cartoons as cunning, funny and cute. Except in Australia.
One of the songs we learned at school went like this:
A fox went out on a chase last night
He prayed to the moon to give him light
For he had many a mile to go that night
Before he reached his hom-o, hom-o, ho-o-mo!
(These days you’d have to be careful where you sang that song!)
I sang with gusto along with everyone else. There was no doubt whose side we were on when the fox went out on the chase.
| After several decades in Australia, I've changed sides of course. I know the damage foxes do to birds and young mammals and bats and lizards. Every night, they do a round of the neighbourhood chook pens to check who forgot to lock the girls away in the chook house. My neighbour and I lost two flocks of chooks to foxes (and our own slackness) before we called it a day. As many have said before, it would be okay if foxes took one chook and left the rest, but I will never forget the silent devastation of a chook yard that’s been raided by a fox. |  Cunning as a chicken killer Oct 10, 2013 - Bob Middleton was always on the fox’s side, until the night he forgot to lock the chook shed. |
You don’t often see foxes in daylight but recently a handsome, devil-may-care cad of a fox has been strutting down my dirt road in broad daylight as if he owns the place. A villain, if ever I saw one.
Then last week, as I was sitting at my desk, a very different fox came into view. I had time to note how skinny he was, and infested with mange. He peered timidly at the world before stopping for a drink at my bird bath, then shuffled off into the undergrowth.
My heart went out to him.
And there’s the rub. You can hate the species but it’s hard to hate an animal, especially one as sick as this one.
When we talk about eradicating rabbits and foxes and cats and Indian mynas, we all have a conflict of interest because we all know which feral animal has done the most damage to Australia: us.
I still find myself braking for Indian mynas, which is ridiculous on two counts: first because they’re the thugs of the bird world and second because you never see a squashed Indian myna on the road.
My heart went out to him.
And there’s the rub. You can hate the species but it’s hard to hate an animal, especially one as sick as this one.
When we talk about eradicating rabbits and foxes and cats and Indian mynas, we all have a conflict of interest because we all know which feral animal has done the most damage to Australia: us.
I still find myself braking for Indian mynas, which is ridiculous on two counts: first because they’re the thugs of the bird world and second because you never see a squashed Indian myna on the road.