Hank the Were Rooster Episode 10: Dead Foxes
Chicken wire is shit.
Hank should have known that from the beginning. It’s amazing stuff, and it makes his hands tingle when he touches it, but he can still build with it. His scissors and his pliers are stronger than it.
Ever since he put it in his backyard, his full moons are twitchier. He’s pecked at it a few times, which hasn’t done anything to the chicken wire, but his dentist is now worried about him. Scissors and pliers are stronger than chicken wire, but teeth aren’t.
Turns out, foxes are smarter than Hank. The foxes wiggle the chicken wire aside a little at a time. They yank it out of the ground, they twist it, they chew on it, and they don’t have to worry about high dentist bills.
Hank’s fixed it many times and then replaced it, and it isn’t enough. Those damn foxes keep getting in his backyard. They don’t bother his neighbors nearly so much. It’s like they’re attracted to him. They probably can smell the rooster on him.
“Fucking foxes,” Hank says as he fixes the chicken wire yet again.
The chicken wire is shit, and the foxes are smart, and it’s only a matter of time before they get into his back yard during the full moon. Hank doesn’t know what will happen if he meets a fox as a rooster, and he doesn’t want to know.
Something else needs to happen.
He visits the local home improvement store, going up and down each aisle, searching for inspiration. Finally, he finds something amazing.
There are all sorts of animals that come into the city: raccoons and coyotes and foxes and rumors of wolves. People need to protect their property and their pets. Hank finds an aisle that has cages.
He reads the back of each one. The cages aren’t designed for chickens. Even if they were, they’re too small to fit him. They could fit a fox, though.
Gleeful, he buys two. They go in opposite corners of his backyard, the two places the foxes most like to slip through. “You come in again, and you’re gonna pay, fuckers.” He chuckles to himself as he works. To make sure the foxes don’t miss the cages, he repairs the chicken wire again.
For a few nights, he sleeps easily. Then, a week out from the full moon, he wakes to a terrible ruckus. Hank dashes out to the backyard, flashlight in hand.
If PETA ever investigates, Hank will be fucked. His inner rooster inspired him to set up the cages in an especially cruel way. Since he’s got a week until the full moon and since he prefers to be a carnivore, part of him is also hungry.
Which is to say: a fox has been crushed against the opening of the cage. Its head is smashed in, there’s blood everywhere, and Hank wonders how to properly flavor fox. And what wine pairs well with it.
Whatever the result, his cages are a success. Humming, he pulls out the body and resets the cage. In the morning, he’ll Google fox recipes.
