Foxes love a chicken dinner, and unfortunately, my mother might as well have hung a KFC sign in her back yard. 

As of Friday, mom only counted three hens and Bruester the Rooster, thanks to a foxy, hungry fox who attacks her chickens in broad daylight. (They are shut inside a secure coop at night but roam free during the day.)

Mom can’t say she wasn’t forewarned. I told her I saw a fox last week unabashedly trotting across North Chestnut Street near her house in Jefferson. As I drove by, it turned and smirked at me!

I thought, “There goes my free eggs!”

Mom was quite depressed, not so much about the eggs, but about the daily dwindling of her beloved hens. 

Thankfully, by the end of the day, she received a bit of good news — three chicks hatched from under a sitting hen. 

Now it was time to get serious about anti-foxing her yard. But where would Mom find a fenced-in daytime coop?

Hubby, of course!

Sanford and Son didn’t own more junk than Hubby. Throughout the past 20 years, he’s picked up numerous chairs, a vacuum cleaner, lamps, bicycles and who knows what else. If it’s broken, he fixes it and then keeps it. Then he stores it somewhere between his three properties.

Sure enough, he had an old chicken coop on wheels stashed behind the gazebo in our backyard in Jefferson.

I just shook my head. 

The incident reminded me of a time when Hubby took Delightful Granddaughter for a golf cart ride at the farm when she was about 5 years old.

As they passed several pieces of [I say, “old,” and he says, “antique”] farm equipment Hubby had stowed in the woods, he said, “Don’t tell Grandma where I hid my junk.”

She eagerly agreed to keep the secret.

As they drove up to the house, Delightful Granddaughter hopped out of the golf cart and ran to me, yelling, “Grandma! Grandma! I know where [Hubby] stores his junk!” 

Staff writer Shelley Terry has many, many cute stories about her granddaughter and will gladly share with anyone who will listen and appreciate.

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