The Fox and the Chicken

She gasped as she hurried over to the red and white heap on the side of the road.  A fox!  And the blood on its nose still wet!
“This must be my lucky day!”  She breathed.  In the early morning light, she examined the creature.
There were bald patches on the legs of one side, one of which ripped through the skin, but overall, other than being dead, the fox was in pretty good shape.
In her garage, she noticed a kink in its tail.  “So you’re the one who’s been getting into my chicken coop lately?”  She muttered, remembering slamming that bushy tail in the gate a few weeks ago.  “You’d have done better in one of my traps.  You could have lived far away from my chickens, and we both would’ve been happy.
“Oh well, I guess you’ve killed your last chicken, my friend.”  Then a thought came to her and she grinned at the irony.  “Perhaps I’ll give it to you after all.”
She got the chicken that the fox had frightened to death not two hours ago.
With experienced hands, she prepared the skins, carved out foam bodies to match the meticulous measurements she had taken, fitted wires into the wings, legs and tails and eventually slipped the skins over it all.  Hours were then spent in brushing the fox’s beautiful fur and drying the chicken’s thick feathers.
Finally, nearly three weeks later, the fox had his chicken firmly in his mouth.  His thick tail was held out and his head held high.  His eyes shown and his ears were up and alert as he leaned forward to take his next prancing step.
The artist stepped back to survey her work.  Almost as beautiful as when he was alive, she thought, but better for my chickens!