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SUSAN HELLARDOur columnist is foxed by a nocturnal intruder... and the girls are not a pretty picture
My dear friend Maggie, who I miss terribly since she moved back home to Ireland, has a legendary stock of sayings inherited from her granny. More than a few of them have rubbed off on me. For instance, whenever someone pulled out a camera at a party, we used to nudge each other and whisper, “Eyes and teeth!”
That was all very well in our twenties, but lately there’s been a strict “no pictures” rule at Hammond Towers, because no one’s eyes or teeth are ready for their close-up.
It all began one night last week. I’d gone to bed early, hoping for that elusive eight hours. Richard was away, so TG and Ketchup kept me company, and I was just drifting off when I heard Blea start her high-pitched barking downstairs. I ignored her for a minute – after all, she sometimes enjoys pulling faces and yapping at Captain for no particular reason. But then Captain joined in, followed by Crusoe. Finally TG pricked up her ears and I had no alternative but to go and see what the fuss was about.
A gale was blowing outdoors as I harrumphed downstairs in my fluffy white dressing gown. And then I heard it too – the unmistakable sound of Mr Fox in the mood for love.
I knew that my little band of brothers and sisters wouldn’t be satisfied until they’d seen him off, so I let them all out to tear across the fields, yapping and barking as they went. Five minutes later they were back, all waggy tails, muddy coats and smiley faces, leaping up at me as if to say, “Wow! Did you see it? Why didn’t you come? Wanna come now? Huh? Huh?”
“Bed, everyone if you don’t mind,” I told them, grabbing a couple of old towels to dry off TG.
Two hours later, I woke again. Same story, same adventure. And then again at 4.30am. So when the alarm went off at six, I felt as though I hadn’t slept at all. Worse still, both girls emerged that morning complaining of toothache. After doling out paracetamol for Iz and Calpol for Willow, booking a visit to the dentist and applying Bonjela to my mouth ulcer (did I mention that?), I consoled myself that tomorrow could only be better.
But no, Mr Fox had enjoyed his adventure so much that he decided to repeat it the next night. And the next. On the third morning I came down, bleary eyed, to find he’d pulled the water bottles off the guinea-pig hutch and given the two little squeakers such a scare that they were still cowering at the back of their bedroom. The girls’ visit to the dentist was only slightly less traumatic (both of them have to go back next week).
Meanwhile, deprived of sleep and having received an accidental head butt from Sparrow, I look as though I’ve been in the ring with Mike Tyson.Still, time heals all – at least if you’re 11 and 14 – and I’m sure that next time Maggie sees Izzy and Wills, she’ll be happy to repeat another of Granny’s sayings: “Ah sure, you’ve teeth like a circus pony – are they yer own?”
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