You cut the peat and you stack it so that it dries. A fox comes along and covers your peat stacks in shit.
As if I needed another excuse to kill foxes on the Chayne, I need look no further than the string of grey hairy sausages that has been laid over the top of my peat stacks. Not only that, but with the perverse dedication of a fox, the peats have also been drenched in piss. I would never normally swear on this blog, but these words are the only appropriate ones I can think of. I’ve seen them scent-mark high points like tussocks and thistles before, and I suppose it only makes sense that they would treat peat with the same interest. But that doesn’t make it acceptable.
The peat was due to come in this weekend, so now I have a heap in the shed which smells like an old pair of fox pants. I hate to think what it’ll smell like when I burn it.
This will not do.