Oh, nature. You are testing me.

That fox last month was one thing. But did he have to move his whole family here? Under the front porch? And, apparently, under the back deck as a playroom for the four – count ’em four – kits?

The worst part is poor Yow-Yow Kitty has taken to patrolling from up on the rooftop of our house.

A close second in the worst-part category is that the cute little kits like to roll around in our newly planted flowers.

Which flowers? The perennials I sent away for and Farmer Gary bought a mini garden tiller to prep our rock-hard clay soil for. (See that? I’m so worked up, I ended a sentence with a preposition!)

The flowers are just starting to bloom. I glance out the sunroom door each morning to see their progress. On Sunday, there were two baby bunnies hopping around.

Only they weren’t bunnies.

The third worst part will soar straight to number one if it happens again tonight.

Screaming.

Did you know foxes scream? It’s not a howl, it’s a bone-chilling, nightmare-inducing scream.

At 3:48am.

There are YouTube videos with the sound of foxes screaming, but I won’t post them here. There are claims they sound like a woman screaming, which I won’t use as a descriptor any more than declare someone fights like a girl. Just trust me on this: it’s horrifying.

A quick search online, and I learn the scream of the fox is either a mating call or a declaration of territory.

Either way, foxes, this is inappropriate.

Speaking of mating calls: for some reason, it took until recently for Farmer Gary to explain to me that the croak of the tree toad is a call for a roll in the mud. Literally.

Here all these years, I thought they were alerting us all that rain was on the way. Nature’s little meteorologists, as it were. No. Gary says the horny little toads are calling out to potential mates that the upcoming rainfall will soften the earth and form mud for some procreational play.

Oh, my … where did I leave my smelling salts?

Another concern about nature as long as we’re on the topic: what is the purpose of the Devil’s Walking Stick? I haven’t experienced anything that prickly since fifth grade and Sister Helena Maria (may she rest in peace).

Above is a close up of the stalk of what grows into a tall shrub. Those thorns are intense!

Back to the fox infestation, Gary saw the kits joyously tumbling around in the other new flower garden, this time with a dead chipmunk.

Today we studied up on the eviction process and discovered foxes don’t like loud noises or stinky smells such as garlic, vinegar, and ammonia. I’m thinking it would be just desserts to stick a Bluetooth gizmo on the front porch and blast Fox News to run off the critters. We’ve got about 100 acres of woods here, after all, plus the Swinging Creek down the hill. There’s lots of lovely property for a young fox family to set up housekeeping.

An aside: One of my favorite memories as a mom is from twenty-something years ago when John took his little brother for a walk in our woods. About 15 minutes later, John burst back into the house with James in his arms. It seems they heard “a bear” and high-tailed it out of there. I was impressed (and still am) that John carried his brother, rather than leaving him to fend for himself.

We all took naps this afternoon (including the kitty). Let’s hope our little family took that quiet time to sneak away, wondering how those noisy humans manage to survive amid the stench of garlicky vinegar.

If not, I will turn once again to poor Gary and ask: “Just what kind of a place are you running here?!”

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