For many months the fox would come to our garden at 7.30 every evening. It was a vixen and we called her Freddie. Although the animal was never tame she would stare at me from about two metres away and I felt that wonderful wordless communion with a wild animal. One time, when the grandchildren were here from America, the fox chased a cat up a tree, which got stuck and had to be rescued, while a Highland bullock from nearby fields trampled Sarah's roses. Three Garda (police) cars came but they said they didn't have handcuffs that big. That night the fox spotted a hedgehog in the dark while we were watching meteors. It was quite the day's event in a suburban garden. Then one morning I saw a fox dead on the road about 100 metres away and I just knew it was Freddie. She never returned. This painting is a memorial to a beautiful creature that gave us joy and wonder in Narnia's vespertine light.

Available at a limited-edition print