Last spring my family and I were gathered at the kitchen table moments away from tucking into a hearty Sunday brunch. Before I could wedge the corner of a raspberry jam smothered croissant into my gaping mouth, a red bushy tail entered my peripheral vison. A family of three foxes eagerly emerged from under the garden decking, proceeding to saunter along the garden path, leaping one by one over the fence into our neighbour’s garden. Disregarding the ensemble of delicate breakfast pastries, we collectively stood aghast at the kitchen windows. Interjecting the shocked silence, I declared ‘it looks like were...