Vulpes Vulpes
Well, We've got this fox.
I don't know where he lives but we share the same back garden. In the past we have got on very well with him, his family and his numerous forebears. Based on the fact that urban foxes rarely live for more than four years, he must be at least the great great great great great grandson of the one we saw when we first moved into this house in the leafy suburbs of Birmingham and we have co-existed here in perfect harmony until a couple of years ago. His family have probably lived round here for much longer than we have so I suppose that we, being the immigrants, should be grateful that we have been accepted, even though we have never made any attempt to learn tuheir language or adopt their lifestyle and cultural values.
Don't get me wrong. I am in no way a 'foxist'. Mrs.S. and I love wildlife. We have a 'wildlife pond', and small 'wildlife area', where nettles grow undisturbed to encourage butterflies and moths, countless bird feeders and lots of 'bee friendly' plants.We even pay a monthly subscription to The Birmingham and Black Country Wildlife Trust. But it's a bit much when a fox engages in revolutionary guerrilla warfare.
Urban foxes come out at night to look for food so you don't see them very often, but it's easy to spot the route they take across our garden and the holes in the fence on each side where they pass through. Sometimes, when we have just returned from Spain, Eddie (our affectionate name for him), will wander up near the house, look surprised to see us, give us a look that says 'Oh, it's you lot again!' and trot away.
'Cuando el gato está de vacaciones, bailan las ratones'
(When the cat's away, the mice will play).
The urban fox should not be confused with his distant relative, the urbane fox
Urban Fox
Urbane fox
This deterioration in Human/ Vulpine relations has happened since we got Monty, two years ago.
Tommy, who was a large and peace-loving Springer Spaniel, and,sadly,no longer with us, had little interest in foxes and was too big to crawl through the holes they made in our fences. Monty is an enthusiastic foxophile and can easily slip through their holes and annoy our neighbours who are terrified of dogs, even pictures of them.
What we have now is open warfare. I have patched up dozens of fox holes and Eddie the fox has dug out dozens more. Monty is only too pleased to show them to me.
Can you imagine what it's going to be like setting up a 'hard border' between Northern and Southern Ireland? Well I can!
I googled 'How to prevent foxes entering your garden'. Here's what I read:
Method 1 Deterring Foxes
- Make your land less attractive. ...
- Block access to enclosed spaces that could turn into a den. ...
- Choose a repellent. ...
- Apply repellent strategically. ...
- Leave out bad-tasting food. ...
- Add male urine around the perimeter. ...
- Get a guard animal. ...
- Try commercial scare products.
Option 6 immediately appealed to me - cost neutral, no specialist equipment needed, eco- friendly and, I admit it, pleasurable.
And it appeared to work.....until
Foxy faeces (not the actual offending item)
The vicious, vile, vulpine vandal crapped on my front doorstep!! There's no mistaking a fox turd. I only just avoided stepping in it when I opened the front door to take Monty for his morning constitutional in Swanshurst Park.
I took this as a clear message that hostilities had been raised a notch. I thought I'd been dealing with a small, wild mammal incapable of higher levels of reasoning. Are animals known to carry out revenge attacks? How does the fox know what number our house is?
It's now taken to digging dirty big holes in the lawn which I can only keep filling up. The sooner we get back to Álora the better. It can please itself then. I give in.
That's enough of that.
Mrs. Sánchez and I went to Paris, France for a few days a week ago. I saw a cheap offer for Eurostar tickets and booked us a hotel room in Montmartre - Hotel Regyn's in Place des Abbesses where we spent a 'romantic weekend' together so long ago that we can't remember the year. On that occasion we had a massive falling out on the first night which ruined the whole trip.
I appreciate we were taking a bit of a chance going back to the same hotel but as they say, 'Lightning never strikes in the same place twice'.(See blog 22/05/18).
They say that all the Parisians leave Paris in August, but that didn't put us off and we hopped on the Eurostar at St Pancras Station at 8.00 pm. We were in our hotel by 11.30pm- just in time to have a glass of wine before retiring to our 5th floor room which had the same view down to the Tour d'Eiffel as we had last time.
Apart from trying to speak to people in French using a vocabulary almost entirely Spanish, the next day went very well. We queued for half an hour with our prepaid tickets to get into the Musée d'Orsay to look at lots of very impressive impressionist paintings and sculptures. There were a lot of sculptures by Degas and Rodin, and loads more Rodins down the road at the 'House of Rodin'.
Famous Rodin sculpture.
I must say I was very disappointed to learn that 'after he completed his apprenticeship, Rodin never lifted a chisel again' but left all the hard graft to his pupils and assistants.
What a swizz! The lazy git!
As far as I know Monet painted all the pictures that bear his name in the bottom right-hand corner.
La Petite Danseuse
Here's a famous bronze figure of a young ballerina by Edgar Degas. It's the only sculpture that he exhibited during his lifetime. It turns out that all those dancers and horses of his were made after his death from wax and plaster models. Some art experts aren't even sure if this one is original. I've got a couple of these up in the loft I bought at a car boot sale. I was going to take them to The Antiques Road Show if it ever stops in Birmingham, but I'm not sure I want that Fiona Bruce smirking at me and calling them ´fakes'.
The Art world is a minefield.
Compared to Álora, Paris is very expensive. I was expecting this and took lots of euros to pay for drinks at atmospheric cafés and bistrots along the picturesque boulevards, but €5.00 for a cup of coffee seemed a bit chère.
Notre Dame
Still, despite the prices and the tacky, crowded Champs Élysées, Paris is a magical city. Pity about the Notre Dame Cathedral. Restoration work has been held up until some of the 440 tons of lead roofing that went up in flames and came down as 'toxic dust' has been cleaned from the streets. I must say it puts my moaning about candle wax on the streets of Álora look a bit of an overreaction.
It's a good job I've only just found out about this because, after an unforgettable day down in the city and a delicious meal at La Pomponette, Mrs.Sánchez greeted the dawn with her head in the bog, throwing up. She was very poorly. I put it down to food poisoning and had a go at the chef about it when I bumped into him on my way to buy bottled water and more tissues. He just shrugged his shoulders and murmured 'Zut alors' and 'Sacré Bleu'. Now I suspect lead poisoning, especially as she's put on a lot of weight.
Anyway, that was the Paris trip ruined again. At least we didn't fall out. We spent the second (last) day in our room, looking at the lovely view and wondering if we could make the 7.00am. train to St. Pancras the next morning. We did.
We hope to be back in Álora in time for the annual Romería in September. Eddie the fox is marking off the days on his canine calendar in animated anticipation.
A usually unreliable source has told me that a new bar, 'La Baranda' has opened on Calle Veracruz and a new hostal is taking bookings down near the Guardia Civil cuartel.
Good luck to them both.
Juanito Sánchez. 21st. August 2019.
