There, see what I’ve done?   I’ve made you think from the off that Les has a mink.  He doesn’t.  But he does have chickens, until he shared them with a mink.

No.  I’m wrong again; it was the mink who decided to share them with Les.  And, I have to say, the mink displayed no empathy with the principles of socialist egalitarianism.

Let me confess my loyalties in this have been divided over time.  The mink or a mink or an otter completely wiped out my garden pond with its fine array of koi carp a couple of years ago.  More recently though his hens have taken to scratting up my newly planted summer bedding, obliterating days of hard work.

Anyway, you’re wondering where this is going.

A few days ago Our Gert told me told me that one of his hens was scratting up my peas.  When I went out to “usher” the bastard back into Les’s yard I detected that the chicken had other ideas and looked for its best way of evasion.  But I’m no Johnny-come-Lately; my ancestors hunted the mammoth.

I positioned myself a couple of yards from the fence dividing my garden from Less’s with a view to panicking the bird backwards the way it had come.  This gave it the choice of a long run round my outside or a short dash on my blindside between me and the fence.

A bit of physical geography mihght help here.  My garden and Les’s back onto the River Aire.  Les had put chicken wire along our boundary down to the river, or at any rate, to as far down the riverbank as he could get without falling in.

The chicken had, however, gone further down the riverbank, around his wire netting and up my side.  Picture this because it’s important.

So, back to me corralling the chicken.  It feinted one way and I responded and then the other.  This happened a few times until it decided on a dash up the narrow blindside between me and the fence.  This is where it gets exciting.

As it tried to shoot past me I swung out with my left peg and caught it a pearler; and, I mean, did I catch it?  Right on the sweet spot.  “Whump”!  It made a noise like a well stuffed cushion being hit by a cricket bat.  The thing was airborne for about 5 yards and rolled for a couple more.

Now it was encouraged to go back where it had come from down the riverbank, but not before sticking its head through the netting a couple of times and trying to push itself through 3” gauge chicken wire.  It gave up the ghost on this pretty quick and scuttled down the river bank, around the end of the fence and up the banking on Les’s side.

Now, I know it was a bit back, but you’ll remember this was about a mink.

So what happened next is a bit of a blur, literally.  Not for the chicken, you understand; it was all very clear for her.  But there was a sudden burst of activity in the undergrowth and a blackish thing pounced on the hen, which by now was no doubt re-evaluating its enmity towards me.

I couldn’t make out much because it was all a bit hectic but I made out the white of the chicken and the black of the mink tumbling down the riverbank together like a Newcastle United shirt in the wash, all of this accompanied by the frantic clucking of protest from the hen.

Naturally my money was on the mink as, indeed, would have proven a wise bet.

I haven’t seen much of Les’s chickens in my garden since.  Those that he still has he keeps permanently locked up in the coop.

So much for free range eggs.