January sun

The vixen sleeps in the morning sun under the thick hedge that borders the road and in plain sight of the kitchen window. She looks up when she hears the Sunday joggers bustle down the hill but soon settles back down. She checks our bird feeders regularly mainly for any strewn peanuts; and to date she has not caught the brown rat that is residing under a pile of timber and which runs out every now and then to feast on the spilt seed left by the antics of the clumsy and boisterous flock of house sparrows.

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