To Catch a Fox

Sej Fyrsen, retired politician and owner of Kyllingstad, his family’s new chicken egg farm, stood on the porch and surveyed his land. He breathed in the brisk morning air, shielding his eyes from the rising sun. His eyes searched out the chicken coops recently built, grabbing the basket from the railing next to him. He looked again at the lightening sky, then set out at a relaxed pace towards his chickens. After decades of dealing with the heavy politics of Denmark, he and his family decided to take the remaining years of Sej’s life off, out in the country for some well-deserved relaxation.

After marching through the pasture he reached the closest chicken coop. Normally, Sej would be greeted by the clucks of his beloved chickens, but the roosts he had lovingly planned and built with his sons months ago were silent. He cautiously peeked his head through the gates, and nearly fainted with horror as he was met with the sight of terrified chickens and a bloodstained floor.

“Oh, my beloved chickens! What a terrible thing to see you all so scared,” he wailed, scooping up chickens and kissing their beaks. Still cradling a chicken in his arms, Sej raced back to his family’s large farmhouse, basket forgotten on the floor of the bloody coop.

Upon arriving back home, he called a family meeting and sat in the kitchen waiting for his sons and nephews to gather. The whole Fyr clan arrived to see Sej sitting on a chair, shivering and rocking back and forth, the chicken still in his arms. They all glanced at one another, wanting anyone else to speak up but them.

Finally, Sej’s wife, Anna Wal, spoke up. “Husband, what is wrong? We have been sitting here silently for minutes, why have you called for us?”

Sej glanced up at his wife’s words, looking at his family as he spoke. “Anna. Children. We have a problem.” He took a deep breath, then said, “We have a fox.” Gasps echoed around the kitchen.

The attacks occurred nightly. Sometimes the fox would take a chicken a night, sometimes the fox would destroy an entire coop’s worth of fertile hens. The chickens of Kyllingstad were attacked nightly. No action or inaction the Fyr family decided to take was the cure for the blight upon their egg farm.

After weeks of losing chickens, the workers at Kyllingstad were getting desperate. Sej’s health was deteriorating due to the stress of losing his wonderful birds. Kyllingstad needed help. Kyllingstad needed a hero. Kyllingstad needed an expert foxhunter. The family was careful to ask for help on message boards not reachable by Google, to ensure they got the best of the best. The hike out to the nearest library for computer access was worth it in the end, for a few days later Björn Jagason arrived on their doorstep.

Björn was an interesting man. He came from a decent family, growing up his family’s estate in Sweden with tutors provided, preparing him from birth to enter the world of politics. Before foxhunting was declared illegal in the country of Sweden, he and his friends would happily host the sport whenever they would have visitors over. Björn took great pride in his ability to ride a horse and follow the foxhounds wherever their chase lead them. When foxhunting was declared illegal, the man was completely crushed and dropped off the face of the political world for several months. When Björn emerged, he declared he was taking a break from politics and would continue to hunt foxes, but only to help those in need around the world.

When one of Sej’s nephews opened the door to their farmhouse, that’s exactly what Björn then declared too. “I’m here to hunt your fox! I believe I have the strength and skill to solve your problem.”

The nephew burst into tears, blubbering, “Oh thank goodness you’ve come! Uncle has been despondent for weeks!”

Björn, catcher of foxes, gave a winning smile, subtly flexing both of his arms, while still trying to carry all his luggage. “Take me to Uncle, Ulv,” he ordered.

Ulv looked up from his hands, still sobbing. He started to walk into the house, gesturing for Björn to follow him. As they walked towards the living room, he asked, “How do you know my name?”

Björn, hauling his luggage through the farmhouse, looked surprised. “Your uncle and my father were friends, so I would come to your family estate every summer. We spent many days together. The comradery I feel towards your family have spurred me to come assist you in your time of need.” He flashed another winning smile.

Björn spotted Sej sitting on the couch, chicken napping in his lap. “Uncle! I have come to help you with your fox problem!” he shouted. The chicken awoke at his loud words, and Sej was startled back into this harsh reality. Björn continued, “I heard about your issues on the Facebook group you posted it to! I plan to begin setup for the fox now and lay in wait until nightfall. I have the utmost trust in my own abilities.” The Swedish visitor flashed his third winning smile.

Sej spoke coherently for the first time in days. “Ah, welcome Björn! It’s been ages since I’ve seen you and your father.” His voice was a little shaky, and the stuttering was minor. “The fox goes after the coop with the most chickens, so I’ll walk you there now.” Noticing the flight tags on Björn’s luggage, Sej then asked, “Oh, how was your flight?”

Björn, carrier of luggage, followed Sej towards the fields. “Oh, no flight. I decided to take my uncle’s boat across the sea. I’m unsure where it’s docked, but I believe it’s being well taken care of.”

Sej didn’t know how to reply to this, so they continued their walk to the coop he was sure would be hit next. “Here we are. Do you need anything, nephew?” he asked.

Björn shook his head. “No, Uncle. I can do this on my own. It may be a vicious fox, but I’m still skilled enough to do this. It’s not my first fox rodeo.” His fingers twitched, and he had to resist the impulse to flex. Too many times may strain his muscles, which was never a pleasant experience.

So Sej left Björn to set up traps on his own, including a single rubber chicken, equipped with feathers carefully glued to the material. He hid on the roof of the coop, extra layers of socks on his feet and hands. With all the equipment Björn had brought, he still forgot his gloves and refused to ask Sej for any help.

After hours of waiting, Björn finally saw the reason for his journey: the fox had appeared. Its fur shone brightly in the moonlight. Björn held his breath as the fox slowly crept its way into the coop, hoping the fox would go for his rubber chicken over the others. Relying on his ears more than his eyes, he waited until he heard the subtle squawk the toy made.

Björn then sprung into action, landing on the ground, tearing into the coop to locate the fox. He spotted it right where he assumed it would be, trapped between the fallen laundry basket and an old board, with the rubber chicken still in its jaw. “Ha, deadly creature!” he shouted, picking up the board and basket together. “I shall name you Sump, a strong name for a strong beast like you.”

The fox, Sump, gripped his nails into the board to avoid losing his balance. Björn began to walk towards the farmhouse, abandoning his bags completely. Björn, handler of Uncle’s issues, returned to the family, and loudly declared, “I have defeated Sump, our fox! I will take him back with me to Sweden, and train him to help me hunt the foxes of our future...” He took a deep breath, then exclaimed to finish his sentence: “Together!”

The Fyr family was overjoyed by Björn’s words, lathering the Swedish man in praise, then convincing him to take a pair of gloves for his travels home. However, it was only as reward for helping them.

So Björn, still carrying Sump in the laundry basket, went in search of his abandoned boat.