The Irish Tales

Chapter Seven


So…there we were : Patsy looming over the Fox, Jay right by her shoulder and Tina next to her, muttering sotto voce : "Red Herring ? Red Herring ?"

"Red herring ?" squeaked the Fox, suddenly a little perturbed, a little less arrogant and – to be honest – suddenly sounding just a little scared.

Patsy opened her mouth and show her teeth : this is what passes for a Scaremonster grin.
"A red herring, indeed, Master Reynard. * You will wait here until my return," said Patsy.

Then turning to Tina, she ordered her to ensure that the Fox stayed where he was at all costs, then suddenly took off into the night sky.

Tina immediately moved right up to the Fox’s haunch and smiled wolfishly down at him, fluttering her eyelashes as she did so.
Such flirts Alsatians.

Now, some cogs were turning in the wonderfully catholic thing which was Jay’s mind and something suddenly clicked.

" A red herring… A rather old English trick, meant to distract attention from the real issue at hand," she said aloud thoughtfully.

And at this, the Fox’s face fell and his eyes took on a shifty, hunted look.

"It originates from the tradition whereby young hunting dogs in Britain were trained to follow a scent with the use of a "red" (salted and smoked) herring," Jay continued.

The Fox smiled weakly. "Um…just what are you trying to say, my dear young human ?" it said in a whiney sort of voice.

We will never know how Jay might have replied, because just then, with a roar and a whooosh and a hint of Mozart in her cry, Patsy returned.
And she was not alone.

Clutched firmly between her middle two legs were four foxes, ears down, eyes closed and whimpering like cubs caught in a honey-pot.

"Hello, Mr. Herring !" snarled Patsy at the Fox.
"Nice try. Very nice try. Keeping us talking here, about Cabbages and Kings and Gordon Whatshisname, whilst your friends here launched an attack on the chicken run over yonder.
What a shame they didn’t take a bath first to hide their….scent."

Now, at this the Fox had the grace to hang his head and look a little ashamed. A little, but not a lot.
"Can’t blame a chap for trying," he giggled weakly.

Patsy looked thunderously at him.
"Hmm, maybe not. But one can turn a chap into fairy cakes…"
The Fox’s eyes bulged, he gulped.
"Look ! An eagle !" he cried and pointed upwards. And whilst all eyes turned to try and spot an eagle which wasn’t there, he and his friends took to their heels and bolted .

Much later, when Jay was happily tucked up in bed again with her raggie and Patsy was gulping down glasses of water, Jay asked sleepily, "Why did the Fox bother with such a trick, when the hounds are all asleep in the kennels and old man Cooper is snoring happily in his bed ?"

Patsy put her feet up,(all six of them) on the end of the bed and pondered.

"Well, y’see, little one, Charlie* is a very strange creature. You might just as well ask why he kills all the chickens when one is enough to satisfy his hunger. Or why he…"

But just then, Jay’s soft snores showed she was fast asleep and reminded Patsy that she too was rather tired after the night’s fun and games.

And so she slowly climbed the ladder into her attic and hopped gracefully into bed, where she fell fast asleep.
As you and I should, right now.


*Reynard and Charlie are affectionate nicknames for any and all foxes.

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