I’m not sure which is harder: engaging my sons in medieval strategy or guessing the bin owner from the contents strewn down the street
Mid-morning, my wife calls me into the sitting room with an urgency that automatically slows my response time: whatever this is, I think, I probably don’t want to see it.
This is what it is: an adolescent fox in the road outside the house, eating from a ruptured food waste sack. He has the contents nicely spread out so he can pick and choose.
