One day when Ian was out the back of the farm,
Where the tractor was rusting,
And a few hobby sheep rustling, together,
As softly as the leaves,
At the end of his hard of work,
He put down his hat from his head,
And put out his hand to pat the old faithful Blue Heeler
That was always by his side,
Only this time as he was about to make contact he felt
That the dog was smaller than usual.
He looked down to see a fox sitting next to him,
Looking up and snarling.
Did it want love?
Did it want affection?
It was going about it in all the wrong ways.
All the wrong ways.
Ian flinched, jumped back about a metre,
And the fox like a shot of god knows what,
Launched into the scrub that bordered the garden.
Like a needle into silk, into skin.
Ian got home,
And he said over dinner, the mushy peas,
And the potato salad,
And the snags,
I nearly patted a fox today love!
A bloody fox!