Seems foxes are really settling into the suburban lifestyle; even bringing into the well tempered gardens of Surrey the kind of behaviour that normally is reserved for behind the white patterned net curtains of suburbia.
Let me explain, just before Christmas 2007 I was in England, staying at my sister’s house in Surrey, I was very intrigued when one morning I opened the curtains and noticed a black object sat in the middle of her, otherwise blemish free, lawn. The object looked about eight inches long and a couple of inches across; it was a glossy wet from the morning dew.
Over breakfast I mentioned the object to my bother-in-law.
“It’s a fox.” he said.
I peered out of the French windows at the black thing; prominent and obvious on the lawn.
“No it’s not,” I said, “it looks like a kid’s training shoe.”
“I know it’s a shoe,” said my brother-in-law, rolling his eyes at my sister as she entered the room and sat down, “The shoe was put there by the fox.”
“What, a real fox?” I asked “Like Basil Brush or Foxy Loxy from Chicken Little?”
My brother-in-law looked momentarily confused. He leaned a little closer into me.
“You do know Basil Brush isn’t real don’t you?” He paused. He seemed to be waiting to see if this was a significant revelation. You know, like the Santa thing. Eventually he continued
“But yes a real fox.”
He went on to explain that on a pretty regular basis a fox, who lives somewhere at the end of the garden, leaves shoes on the lawn, sometimes even digging holes to try and bury the stolen footwear.
“… we are not only the house ‘round here with the problem either.” He finished.
Let me explain, just before Christmas 2007 I was in England, staying at my sister’s house in Surrey, I was very intrigued when one morning I opened the curtains and noticed a black object sat in the middle of her, otherwise blemish free, lawn. The object looked about eight inches long and a couple of inches across; it was a glossy wet from the morning dew.
Over breakfast I mentioned the object to my bother-in-law.
“It’s a fox.” he said.
I peered out of the French windows at the black thing; prominent and obvious on the lawn.
“No it’s not,” I said, “it looks like a kid’s training shoe.”
“I know it’s a shoe,” said my brother-in-law, rolling his eyes at my sister as she entered the room and sat down, “The shoe was put there by the fox.”
“What, a real fox?” I asked “Like Basil Brush or Foxy Loxy from Chicken Little?”
My brother-in-law looked momentarily confused. He leaned a little closer into me.
“You do know Basil Brush isn’t real don’t you?” He paused. He seemed to be waiting to see if this was a significant revelation. You know, like the Santa thing. Eventually he continued
“But yes a real fox.”
He went on to explain that on a pretty regular basis a fox, who lives somewhere at the end of the garden, leaves shoes on the lawn, sometimes even digging holes to try and bury the stolen footwear.
“… we are not only the house ‘round here with the problem either.” He finished.
I sipped my tea, my head full of images of foxes moving through the suburban London night like Ninjas stealing shoes from beneath the noses of their owners.
“What happens to the shoes?” I asked.
“We throw them away” He said.
“Why doesn’t the neighborhood get together every few months and have a kinda reverse jumble sale. A chance to repatriate the shoes?” I asked.
“The foxes seem to like the shoes a lot, they lick and chew them like maniacs; I don’t think the owners want them back after that.”
Suddenly the ninja fox view disappeared and was replaced with an image of gangs of foxes roaming the deserted Surrey streets looking for a shoe fix.
“Come on pal I need something! Just a tongue, a lace! Can’t you see I’m in cold Nike!”
Do you think there are fox rehab clinics? Maybe they would be put on insoles which are like shoes but not as strong. Maybe there is a reality show in there? “The real cubs of KT17”
But then a different thought occurred to me, what if it’s not an addiction? What if it is a fetish? Perhaps other foxes looked on those with the shoe fetish as being weird, outcasts. Maybe there were Fox dens where a dog could meet a vixen in a safe environment surrounded by the beautiful heels of Surrey. An underground foxclub scene …..
I was startled from my musing on Vulpes.vulpes retifism by a loud chattering and I watched bemused as a thirty strong flock of Green Parrots rose from the trees at the end of the garden. Parrots! In Surrey? But that is next week’s blog.
= = = = = = = = = = = = =
I watched as the beautiful Green birds rose as one body from the end of the garden. Given that 
the fox conversation was still hanging over the breakfast table, I wasn’t about to start another fauna discussion. I excused myself and headed back upstairs. Once in the back bedroom I grabbed my camera phone and looked out into the garden for the second time that morning. Sure enough, in one of the trees that flank the garden were four green parrots. I snapped this rather bad picture just to prove to myself that I wasn’t insane.
Later, when everyone had gone out, I tried a little ‘twitching’ on the web. If parrots have established themselves in Surrey then surely it must be all over the news? Not exactly. I did, however, discover that the birds I had seen were Ring Neck Parakeets and one of the more colorful theories for how they come to be in the UK. Namely the assertion that the birds escaped from the film set of The African Queen while it was being filmed at Shepperton Studios in West London. The most informative piece was this four and half year old article on the BBC. The most startling thing in this piece is the estimate that the population is growing at 30% per year – that’s a lot of parrots.
Later that day I caught the bus to Kingston (there’s some wildlife right there). Once there I met up with my kids and took the opportunity to ask my youngest about the parrots.
“Spud, do you ever see Parrots?” I asked, over a coffee in Starbucks. Spud looked up from playing a game on his cell phone, creased his brow and shot me a sideways glance. He seemed annoyed that I had interrupted him.
“Parrots?” he asked and he turned back to his text messaging.
“Yes parrots. Do you ever see parrots?” I had the beginnings of a horrible feeling of déjà vu., “Parrots, here in Surrey. Do you ever see ‘em?” My only response was the silent movement of his fingers on his cell phone keypad.
“Spud,” I said, a little louder this time causing a few of the other coffee shop patrons to look in our direction, “parrots? Anywhere?”
Spud snapped his cell phone shut and put it on the table between us.
“What is it with you and bloody parrots?” asked the twelve year old.
“Don’t swear,” I said, “I‘m just asking, in case you didn’t hear me the first three times, if you ever see parrots round here?”
His look changed from tired indulgence (I think he learned that from his mother) to one of, well, contempt (also probably from his mother).
“Of course I see parrots. They’re everywhere. And anyway they’re not parrots they’re parakeets”
“Parakeets? What’s the difference?”
“Parakeet is African for small.” He said, but I think he was making that up. “They live in the Oak tree outside our house and in the trees near the football pitch; they make a lot of noise when the ball hits one of their perches. And sometimes I watch them in my geography lesson”
“When you're doing things about Africa?”
“No, in the tree outside the window of the geography hall, they live there too.”
“Well Spud, maybe you should concentrate on your lesson …” I started to say. I was going to explain to him that when I was a boy there were no parrots, sorry parakeets, in England. But I realised that his attention was back with his cell phone.
So I guess there are now parakeets in living in Surrey. I wonder if parakeets can talk. Bet they say more than a twelve year old boy says.
Later, when I was back in the States, I was telling my mate Jim about the parrots and that they may have escaped from The African Queen. He pointed out it was lucky they weren’t using elephants in that film. I agree. If Pachyderms got into trees by the football pitch god knows how you'd get them out.
the fox conversation was still hanging over the breakfast table, I wasn’t about to start another fauna discussion. I excused myself and headed back upstairs. Once in the back bedroom I grabbed my camera phone and looked out into the garden for the second time that morning. Sure enough, in one of the trees that flank the garden were four green parrots. I snapped this rather bad picture just to prove to myself that I wasn’t insane.Later, when everyone had gone out, I tried a little ‘twitching’ on the web. If parrots have established themselves in Surrey then surely it must be all over the news? Not exactly. I did, however, discover that the birds I had seen were Ring Neck Parakeets and one of the more colorful theories for how they come to be in the UK. Namely the assertion that the birds escaped from the film set of The African Queen while it was being filmed at Shepperton Studios in West London. The most informative piece was this four and half year old article on the BBC. The most startling thing in this piece is the estimate that the population is growing at 30% per year – that’s a lot of parrots.
Later that day I caught the bus to Kingston (there’s some wildlife right there). Once there I met up with my kids and took the opportunity to ask my youngest about the parrots.
“Spud, do you ever see Parrots?” I asked, over a coffee in Starbucks. Spud looked up from playing a game on his cell phone, creased his brow and shot me a sideways glance. He seemed annoyed that I had interrupted him.
“Parrots?” he asked and he turned back to his text messaging.
“Yes parrots. Do you ever see parrots?” I had the beginnings of a horrible feeling of déjà vu., “Parrots, here in Surrey. Do you ever see ‘em?” My only response was the silent movement of his fingers on his cell phone keypad.
“Spud,” I said, a little louder this time causing a few of the other coffee shop patrons to look in our direction, “parrots? Anywhere?”
Spud snapped his cell phone shut and put it on the table between us.
“What is it with you and bloody parrots?” asked the twelve year old.
“Don’t swear,” I said, “I‘m just asking, in case you didn’t hear me the first three times, if you ever see parrots round here?”
His look changed from tired indulgence (I think he learned that from his mother) to one of, well, contempt (also probably from his mother).
“Of course I see parrots. They’re everywhere. And anyway they’re not parrots they’re parakeets”
“Parakeets? What’s the difference?”
“Parakeet is African for small.” He said, but I think he was making that up. “They live in the Oak tree outside our house and in the trees near the football pitch; they make a lot of noise when the ball hits one of their perches. And sometimes I watch them in my geography lesson”
“When you're doing things about Africa?”
“No, in the tree outside the window of the geography hall, they live there too.”
“Well Spud, maybe you should concentrate on your lesson …” I started to say. I was going to explain to him that when I was a boy there were no parrots, sorry parakeets, in England. But I realised that his attention was back with his cell phone.
So I guess there are now parakeets in living in Surrey. I wonder if parakeets can talk. Bet they say more than a twelve year old boy says.
Later, when I was back in the States, I was telling my mate Jim about the parrots and that they may have escaped from The African Queen. He pointed out it was lucky they weren’t using elephants in that film. I agree. If Pachyderms got into trees by the football pitch god knows how you'd get them out.
<Enter stunningly witty and clever tagline here>
Bazza
Bazza
Fox Info
For a more sensible explanation of urban and suburban foxes see & Here:
And proof that foxes even steal the shoes of the nobility
And proof that foxes even steal the shoes of the nobility
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