On one of my frequent walks along the farmland roads around Auldhouse, qui vicino East Kilbride, I came upon this perfect but dead specimen of Mr Reynard Fox:
"Mr Fox Bought The Farm", acrylics on paper, 43x59cm.
He was lying on a verge of dead grasses partially hidden from view and my guess is that he had been struck by a passing car. There was no sign of blood and apart from the slighly awkward turn of the neck looked as though he was asleep. When I looked in closely I was ready to run a mile if he was actually still alive.
But alas, no - dead as a doornail, and he wasn't resting. He had "kicked the bucket, shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile!!". He was a dead fox.