Hi Friends,

I hope all is well in your neck of the woods!

Over the past few months, we have been lucky enough to watch a family of six foxes — Mama Fox and her five cheeky cubs — grow up in our back garden. Seeing them drink peacefully from their proud Mama was honestly one of the most beautiful miracles I have been lucky enough to witness.

This week, however, brought unexpected drama. Not all of our neighbours shared our enthusiasm about their "digs," and they took action. To our complete disbelief, we learned that fox removal in the UK legally includes trapping and on-site “dispatch” — in other words, killing. It absolutely tore my heart into bits to not only think of our young fox family, but to think of the cruel fate of so many innocent animals who are simply living their lives in their natural habitat.

I'm now relieved to say that through open communication, a willingness to compromise, and implementing some practical fox-proofing and deterrent solutions, our family of six was spared this death sentence and remains happy, healthy, and now simply passes through the yard on their way to the park. We are deeply thankful to our neighbours who pivoted to pursue a humane alternative with us!

If you ever find yourself requiring a fox to pack its bags, please implement deterrents or fox-proofing. “Dispatch” is never the solution. The folks at Fox-A-Gon have been incredible with their advice on humane fox deterrence, and we are so grateful to the superhero volunteers at The Fox Project for teaching us more about these amazing animals and supporting us throughout this dramatic process! The world is a better place because of them.

Foxes are marvellous, cunning, and complex creatures, and a nuisance in the yard is never a reason to take a life.

And so, having spent these months observing this little furry family, I couldn't help but write about them… I hope you enjoy this week’s story about The Cunninghams and how they too, found their way to embrace a little chaos.

With love,

Nina xxx

Fiona Cunningham, matriarch of the Northwest London branch of the Cunninghams, desperately needed some time away from her always-on-the-move twelve-week-old kits Martin, Eloise, Freja, Reggie, and Tiger. With her husband mostly away on business (real estate; Foxtons, I believe), moments to herself were precious. So when she found herself sunbathing on the shed roof with a basket of freshly picked figs, she leaned back and rejoiced, “They can't see me up here,” just as a ray of sunshine broke through the palm leaves.

Naturally, being Cunninghams, the kits were energetic, curious, and perfectly capable of entertaining themselves. Tiger (Timothy Charles, when he was in trouble) idolised his hero Star Fox and spent most of his time gaming in the den. Martin preferred frequenting indie film venues, and after a rather life-changing screening by Wes Anderson, had been inspired to channel Fantastic Mr. Fox. He would never admit this, of course. Orange corduroy simply happened to suit him. Freja and Eloise had formed the self-styled Coop Troop, advocating for veganism and non-violence within the fox community. Since befriending a flock of chickens back in April, they had participated in a series of protests at Westminster and showed no signs of slowing down.

Then there was Reggie. The smallest kit of the skulk.

Everyone seemed to be busy doing something important. So Reggie curled up on the lawn chair and took a snooze. That is, until Old Magpie next door started up with his maracas… as he did every morning… Shake! Shake! Shake! Shake your Feathers!

Fiona rolled her eyes. The kits poked their heads out from the den. Shut up!! What a nuisance!!

Reggie, by contrast, gave them the side eye. He loved Old Magpie’s rhythms. Sometimes he even grabbed two empty snail shells from the yard and added a few sick beats of his own.

But with the kits hollering and any hope of peace dissolving rapidly (her sisters weren’t even watching them next weekend…) Fiona had simply had enough. She leapt down at Old Magpie, snatched his maracas, and hurled them clean over the fence and straight into the pond. “Turn. It. Down.” She snarled as she stepped off his wings. Look, she didn’t like to snarl at anyone. But here she is, on her own, and the chaos is sometimes just too much.

Old Magpie sulked away into the bushes, tears in his eyes, bruised emotionally and on his left wing.

Peace and quiet. No sounds whatsoever. Happy kits. Happy Mama.

That was until a small, wet snout poked her side. “Oh! Reggie! I didn’t even hear you, my love.” Reggie sat down beside her, ears perked, and calmly explained that Old Magpie’s music made the neighbourhood what it was. That everyone deserved to do what they loved, especially when it meant sharing their gifts with the world. That the maracas had made him happy and inspired him to take up drumming. And that maybe, instead of throwing someone’s most treasured hobby into a pond, it was worth finding a solution that was fair for everyone.

Fiona knew she had overreacted. She knew it the moment Reggie poked her, the guilt of hurting Old Magpie, and of taking away something he loved…

So she picked up her figs, her sunhat, and the latest issue of Vixen Weekly, and together with Reggie headed into the den. “Right! Tiger, you’re on wood carving duty. Freja, Eloise, I need corn kernels or seeds, and I’m sure your chicken friends can spare some. Martin, you’re on painting and design. Reggie, you and I are putting these all together.” She looked down at her youngest kit, who had managed, in his polite and unassuming way, to bring the whole family into the same den in peace on a Saturday afternoon.

And so, after some excellent teamwork, several splashes of paint, some enthusiastic gluing, and one or two engineering mishaps… a shiny new pair of maracas was made, with love, by the entire Northwest London branch of the Cunninghams.

When Old Magpie opened his door to find all six of them on his step, his eyes went wide. “No more bruising!” he yelped. Fiona stepped forward and apologised profusely. She told him his music was appreciated by many and that he made this corner of Northwest London feel like home - a loud home - but home nonetheless. And that thanks to him, her youngest had found something he loved: Music!

Old Magpie was over the moon. He fetched his Panama from the closet, took hold of the newly made maracas, and struck up a beat. Then he glanced over at Reggie, who he knew had made all of this happen. He bounced over and passed the maracas to him.

These are for you.

And so the rest of that summer Saturday in June, the Cunninghams, Old Magpie, the chickens, and the neighbours all danced together in the street to that jazzy, tropical, slightly wonky beat of a pair of handmade maracas. All thanks to one very small fox who believed everyone deserved a chance to share what they loved with the world.