The fox appears in front of the kitchen window; he is in perfect condition with a thick winter coat. Immediately, he steps into the abandoned ground of grasses and nettles that one day may be a back garden. He seems to know it is the right place to hunt and is entirely alert and focussed. Soon he has his head in a tussock, then stands up before leaping high and down with elegant arched back and then again, then nose in again before stamping a foot gently and eventually lifting out a field vole. He is arrogantly causal with his prey and lets it escape a few times and plays with it like a cat; at each release the poor vole is worse the wear before finally lying on its back quite dead. It is snaffled down in a single swallow and at once he trots off. It was a quick and successful hunt executed with such supreme confidence and practiced ease.