This is no Basil Brush

According to ancient Dogon mythology in Mali:

He is the Pale Fox, known locally as the Jackal, a creature despised by all. There are many foxy trickster deities, but none of them are quite so mouthwateringly awful.

Ogo’s conception and birth is a horrific tale of attempted rape inside an egg. The story includes sacrifice, stolen semen, fellatio, biting the end off a very private part, circumcision, mutilation and practices so unsavoury it would be enough to put a cannibal off his food.

Needless to say, his upbringing left much to be desired and the tortured twisted creature became the embodiment of Chaos. Seeking the power of speech, he tried an incestuous union with moist Mother Earth which brought impurity and barrenness to the world.

...and we are currently under siege from our very own version of Ogo, as I awoke today to find one of the "twisted creatures" had laid waste to a swathe of one of our beds, completely destroying a large clump of yellow Coreopsis (chewed right through) and red Monarda (Bergamot), and there was mud everywhere from its digging efforts.

This means war!

I have already purchased some rather medieval-looking prickle strips for the tops of the fences, more "Dig-Stopper" roll, and some deterrent spray. But by far the most imaginative solution was one that Madam Arcati stumbled upon in an online forum - a load of that nasty plastic picnic cutlery from Poundland, embedded, spiky sides upwards, in the ground where the beast has been trying to create its den...

Time will tell.

Otherwise I am going to buy that shotgun!

Here's an appropriate tune to suit the mood:

Hollies feat Peter Sellers - After the Fox