We scatter our streets with the remains of kebabs, chips and pizzas and then we wonder why wild animals treat our cities like one big buffet
It’s a bit rich the NHS putting up “Fox Alert!” posters when we are all far more likely to be killed by the NHS than by a fox.
I reckon our hospitals have probably killed more people than foxes have killed chickens.
At Stafford Hospital, where 1,200 died in three years, 13 nurses are facing a lifetime ban for the neglect and abuse of patients.
NHS medical director Sir Bruce Keogh is investigating nine other hospital trusts and an estimated 10,000 needless deaths.
And watch out for that MRSA virus!
How many deaths does the fox population have on its paws? Er – none.
When did we become a nation of total hysterics?
What happened to four-week-old Denny Dolan, the South London baby who was attacked by a fox, was every parent’s worst nightmare.
But let’s struggle to keep a little perspective.
If you want to control the urban fox population then you could start by getting local councils to do the job they are paid for – cleaning up our filthy streets.
It should be carved in stone that every house in the land has its bins collected at least once a week.
And once the councils start doing their job, we could have a crackdown on all those slobs who treat our pavements like a rubbish dump.
Nobody could fail to be distressed by the sight of that baby in his hospital bed.
But the fact remains that the fox population is not kicking down our doors to eat our children.
The fox wants to avoid human contact. I live in the heart of London and I spot a fox about once or twice a week.
True, they sometimes pause to look with interest at Stan, my Cavalier King Charles Spaniel – is he possibly some kind of sandwich?
But their primal instinct is to stay the hell away from me.
We – stupid, slobby humans who always expect somebody else to clean up after us – have brought the fox population to our door.
And I confess that I always enjoy seeing a fox. The sight of a fox makes my heart beat a bit faster.
It puts a smile on my face – even when they are giving Stan the evil eye.
No, I am not one of those city folk who believes the fox is some kind of cuddly, stuffed toy.
I know it’s not Basil Brush peering at us from the bushes. I know that if I tried to hug a fox he would cheerfully bite my nose off.
The fox is wild. That’s what I like about him – the sight of a wild animal so close to home.
Spotting a fox always gives my day a lift – like having a little bit of David Attenborough on my doorstep.
Calm down, Britain – you are losing your grip.
Dogs are more likely to hurt babies than foxes. And horrible human beings do more harm to children than dogs.
We all wish little Denny Dolan a full and speedy recovery.
The fox apparently has a sweet tooth for baby poo and experts suggest that’s what attracted the one that attacked Denny.
The family say it gained access to their home through a back door with a faulty lock, which they were apparently unable to get the council to fix. Perhaps they should have fixed it themselves.
The fox is a wild animal. He always will be. But we still have more to fear from each other than we do the fox.
And what a miserable, antiseptic, sterile world this would be if it had no place for the wild fox.
As far as I can tell, the fox would prefer to have as little to do with us as possible.
He is only hanging around our neighbourhoods because human beings are such a bunch of slobs.
We would be far better off having a cull on human slovenliness than the fox population.
We scatter our streets with the remains of kebabs, chips and pizzas and then we wonder why wild animals treat our cities like one big buffet.
Save the fox – cull the slobs!