Secret Garden

What lies beyond this enchanting door is a mystery to me. But tonight, as I walked past, I imagined it was a secret garden. One that belonged to me and was too secret for foxes to know about.

Unfortunately, our garden - as beautiful as it is - has turned into a foxes' bachelor pad. While we're out slaving away at work, the foxes take it upon themselves to chill out in the midday sun and help themselves to the beautifully ripe apples that have fallen from the tree. I can just imagine them now - lazing on their backs, one arm behind the head, one holding the apple with legs akimbo and smirk in place.

Now this would be quite alright, should the foxes kindly leave or garden in the clean and tidy state it was. But instead, they thank us for our hospitality by leaving pooh presents all over our patio... lawn... and right before our doorstep.

It's just not on Mr Fox. Not on at all.