VALUE INVESTING
Foxy Lady

By Stephen Bland (TMFPyad)
December 24, 2004

The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.

Mavis Beacon, most cunning vixen in the whole of cunning foxland, always had this thought as she leapt in one bound and close to absolutely silently, the recumbent figure of the indolent mutt that guarded the chickens. Its silhouette was hardly visible in the dark and on this darkest of dark, moonless nights it was quite possibly visible only in her own mental map of the yard rather than physically to her eyes.

Mavis knew that the dog always slept in exactly the same place. Once over the first fence and over the dog, she could easily take the second fence around the chickens and be off on the other side to the dog with one of the squawking, fat, juicy bird in her jaws before the dog even woke up. And by the time it did and rushed over to investigate all the noise, she was long gone.

She wasn't really sure whether if it came to it, she could outrun the dog if once it managed to wake up in time and realise what was happening. So if it ever did catch her, she knew well that this would probably be the end for she was no match for it in a straight fight. It was far bigger and stronger than her. But against that she was infinitely smarter and her smaller size enabled her to get through small openings both around the human areas and in the wild through which the dog could not follow.

Mavis though, ever cunning, never attacked in exactly the same place in the same way two nights running. In fact she kept her raids fairly rare and when she did attack she varied the entry points. In between the occasional chicken raids, she lived on other food supplies like wild rabbits.

She often wondered to herself why she continued to go for chickens in the face of the potentially lethal danger from the dog. Sure a chicken was the most delicious meal that could be imagined, no doubt about that but was it worth risking her life over? Apart from the nutritional element, she had to admit to herself that she enjoyed it too. But was the danger worth the thrill of betting her personal farm on attacking the farm? When she first thought about these questions she wasn't really sure of the answers. I mean a fox can be as philosophical as anyone else but eventually she realised that the simple answer was that this is the way she wanted to live, and die if necessary. And keeping it simple suited Mavis's personality perfectly.

Not all the foxes thought this way. In fact Mavis was in a small minority these days because most of the others had left the country for what they saw as an easier life in the town. Mavis viewed townies disparagingly. Bin raiders she called them. Eating anything remotely edible that humans discarded. A bit of it verged on the edge of just about consumable by Mavis's high standards. Chicken bones for example, at least those that weren't too old. But most of the townies were not discriminating and would eat anything including the remains of pot noodles and take-way pizzas, curries and chinese. Stuff like that. Mavis's stomach heaved at the mere thought of it.

She didn't live that far from the edge of the city. In fact she had been there, done that but did not have the T shirt. A fox after all would look slightly silly in a T shirt. So she returned to the wild. Hunting a rubbish bin offered little by way of pleasure and anyway, she never could get used to consuming the remnants of manky week old curry. Once a townie bin raider had come out to see her and started coming on to her. He so stank of mouldy lamb korma that she kicked his butt out. Dumb blokes, useless creatures good only for one thing she thought.

Mavis was starting to get on a bit now and although still quick and brown, she was not quite as quick as hitherto. Cunning as ever though, more so perhaps with the wisdom generated by all that experience that lay behind her.

One moonless night she fancied a chicken, hadn't had one for some time. Mavis always attacked under the cover of as much darkness as possible as befitted the most cunning of the cunning ones. Approaching the yard from a different direction to her last foray she sensed something was different. Couldn't quite put her paw on it but something was up. There was still plenty of time to abort the mission, she was sure that she hadn't been spotted by the dog.

Undeterred though she went ahead. Keeping her head down she crept forward to ensure the way was clear, then got across the outer fence with no sound. Pausing momentarily only to ensure things were still quiet she started her run to jump over the lazy dog. It lay in its customary place, deep in canine reverie. With no difficulty she soared over it, landing softly then crouched, keeping stock still for further surveillance prior to entering the chicken run. As usual the dog had not woken, yet she still had a nagging doubt that all was somehow not well.

Suddenly the lights came on in the yard and a man appeared in a doorway. Somehow Mavis's presence had become known. The lights were spotlights that created sharp shadows as well as dazzling pools of blinding light and she was caught in one of those pools like a dark rock in the middle of a sunlit pond. But she was not mesmerised like a rabbit or deer caught in car headlight beams. She knew better than that.

The man was holding a shotgun, an over and under double barrelled job so that Mavis knew he had only two shots. She was grateful it wasn't a Winchester pump. Moreover he was some  thirty yards away and Mavis knew the limited range of this crude weapon. She was at its effective limit but still too close. She rolled hard left for the darkness as the gun went off, completely missing her. A woman stood beside the man holding a powerful torch. She shone it around, searching for Mavis. Mavis was trapped in a dark corner of the yard.

Inevitably the torch would find her, forcing her to move back into the spotlights for there were no other dark places to hide. She was trapped in the yard and she would then be done for. But not quite yet. She resolved that before the torch beam illuminated inevitably her presence she would run directly at the two humans. The very last thing they would expect. Once past them the way was clear past the dark side of the house and out and he had only one shot left. She figured that he had little chance of hitting her whilst she was running towards him. There was still the dog of course now barking loudly and sniffing around but that was a chance she had to take. The outside gate had gaps in it small enough for her to get through but not the dog. All she had to do was make that run to the gate.

Not waiting for the torch to find her, so as to increase the surprise element, Mavis broke cover and commenced her run directly at the two humans. She was quiet and fast, though not as fast as she used to be. She had to get through the light pools and knew they would see her as she crossed them but by that time she was approaching too near to the man for him to get a shot off at her. She passed them flat out, pursued by the dog. They humans turned round and the man was screaming at the woman to shine the torch at the fox so he could get a shot in, but as she did so the dog was closing in on Mavis. The man was then reluctant to shoot for fear of hitting his dog.

Mavis could see the wooden gate now and the inviting gap between its bars which the woman's torch was helpfully assisting to light up. Would only take a small leap and she'd be through, the dog unable to follow. With the dog's jaws not far from closing on her, she paced her run perfectly, jumped, floated through the gap, hit the ground and continued running away to safety.

A narrow escape but no chicken that night. Would there ever be again? It would be suicide to go back to the same place.

Quite a long time later, Mavis had gotten old. Her mind was as fine as ever but her body showed signs of age. Aches and pains, slowness, you know the kind of thing. Since her close call she had never been back to the chicken place and had subsisted on whatever edible wild life she could find, still refusing to join the bin raiders in town. No that wasn't for her. She reflected for few moments on her life. It hadn't been too bad by foxy standards. But it was drawing to a close.

That night she returned to the chicken house. She had enough strength to get over the outer fence. The lazy dog was still sleeping there, himself now getting on. She crouched not far from him, watching him for a bit and strangely felt a kind of sympathy for the old hound. Instead of heading for the chicken run she walked towards the house. As she expected, the spotlights came on and the man emerged carrying his shotgun. For the second time Mavis was caught in this situation only this time she gazed directly at the man and did not try to escape. He fired at close range and she fell dead. Mavis lived and died as she had wanted.

I wish all our readers a relaxing Christmas and a prosperous New Year. My Value Investor newsletter starts its second year of publication in January 2005. A year in which I expect us to see more sales of profitable value trading share and my first HYP to be completed.