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Tasmanian Words: Dressed To Kill - A Tall Story

Colin tells a tall tale about a fox and an extra-large chicken.

Now, I'll tell you a tale - a tale of a fox - a fox and a chicken really.

Now you probably know that somewhere in Tasmania there's a fox on the loose, or there was, so they say. But maybe there's more than one. Who knows? They shot one last month so I read in the paper. But was it the real one, the one they've been hunting all year?

Well I'll tell yer something. I got a mate, a good mate, name's Jack. He's a farmer like, up Longford way an' he's bin tryin' to find that damn fox for months. He knew he was around. Found his footprints by his chicken run more 'n once. Foxes love chooks, don't they ever, and Jack he knows this. So, first thing he does is set a trap. Nice idea, but it don't work. Foxes haven't been caught in traps since knows when. Too smart by far they are.

So Jack goes t' plan number two. Shooting. Takes his gun and sits awaiting the cunning old foxy. Night after night he's there, just waiting but fox don't show up. So Jack gets ter thinking some more. What can he do? And then he says to himself: foxes like chickens. Well that's obvious ain't it?

"Ah," says Jack, "but what if he smelt and saw a really big one. One much bigger than a little pullet. One he couldn't refuse. Suppose I dressed like a chook - like that politician did in Parliament one time . . . Bruce . . .what's his name?" So all the next week Jack collects hen's feathers and when he's got enough he tars and feathers himself all over. Looked just like a six foot rooster. Talk about laugh. Looked a right sight. "Yes," says Jack, "I'm gonna sit in that hen house all night till he comes. And when he does. Bang! I'll have him."

And that's what he did. It sure worked a treat. One dead fox. Course he didn't tell the papers what I've just told you. But that's how it was. Trust me!

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