This. Means. War.

Dave came home and told me there was a dead animal outside. I strolled up the front walk and there it was; a chunk of rabbit about the size of a business card. Right next to it the predator had left his calling card; a huge pile of fox poop. I'm steamed.

I looked up fox hunting season and it doesn't start till November, but if Ol' Foxy thinks he's gonna have free reign on MY bunny wabbits all summer, he is sadly mistaken. I have a gun and I know how to use it. It may not be a hunting rifle, but I have good aim, so he'd better quit while he's ahead. Or while he still has a head. Or before I'm wearing him on my head. Ok, I'll stop now.

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Edited to add: Dave cleaned up the mess and thinks the poo is too big to be from a fox and is probably from a coyote. Good! There's no closed season on those mangy things and they're bigger, so they make better targets.