Heron Scare 'Em

Fucking Hell!!! I don't sodding well believe it!!! Talk about it never rains, only pours!!!!
I spent last night mourning the passing of Reg, my lobster, and I woke up this morning to find that the fucking, bastard, wanky, shit-for-brains, twat heron has gone and eaten half the fish in my pond!!!
I seem to vaguely recall sending God to Grantham last night so, no doubt, The Vengeful One decided to point his giant index finger out of the clouds and down at Pither Towers at dawn today. Bollocks to you, do you hear? I'm still going, I'm still alive....................but give me a fucking break, eh?

That fucking heron has had it away with four koi carp, each one not only dearly loved but also weighing in at an obscene £30, and a ruck of hefty comets and shebunkins I nurtured for years in an indoor tank before giving them their freedom. Even worse than that, I can't find head nor tail of either Doug or Dinsdale, my two sturgeons. Admittedly, they weren't the sharpest tools in the box and made me look hyperactive but, being bottom dwellers, I thought they would of least have had the sense to lie low while that greedy, murdering monster was dipping its beak! I hope the bastard bird is so fucking stuffed it can no longer fly and spends a miserable day shitting itself into Hades!
I've tried everything possible to keep these fucking herons away from my lads. First off, I bought a net to throw over the surface. Not only did it look awful, one of my dogs decided to have a dip one day and almost drowned after getting tangled up in the mesh.
Plan B was to buy a plastic heron and put it pondside.
The theory was that herons are territorial and so, if they see another heron at a potential feeding site, they think to themselves "Come away Harry, it's not worth it. I don't need the hassle at my age. I'll just flap on somewhere else." What happened? Turns out that theory is an utter loads of bollocks! Instead of avoiding any competition, the sodding things were looking down and saying "Fuck me! One of our lads is down at that ramshackled old place. Must be some grub in there. 'Scuse me mate, mind if I join you?" I had herons coming from all over the fucking place to dine. My beautiful water feature became the Feathered Marco Pierre White's of Small Town.
Plan C was the one in use until this morning. I rigged up little struts all around the edge of the pond and strung two lengths of wire around them, one just three inches off the ground, the other about 10 inches. The theory behind this bit of handiwork was that herons, if they can't fly directly onto and land on the water, wade in from the edge. They will not step over an obstacle, particularly one 10 inches high, and cannot get under anything just three inches off the ground. Well, looks like I've either been raided by the Sergei Bubka of the heron world or a fucking limbo dancing gannet!!
Right, this time things are going to be different. The tripwire can go in the greenhouse and I'm moving on to Plan D - but this is going to cause ructions among some inhabitants of The Towers. I'm going to leave the conservatory door open all night and get the dogs to sleep in there. If anything so much as flutters down for a nosey they'll 'ave it!
There are, however, two downsides to this masterplan. Firstly, I have let the dogs have the run of the garden on hot, summer nights in the past and they spent their time killing mice and bringing them indoors. I happen to like mice and don't want to inflict my crew on them, but needs must. Also, three of the dogs usually sleep on/in the bed with me while the big lad, Pad, has his "special place" half-way up the stairs. They won't take kindly to being ejected from the Comfydown Majorette and associated quilt and pillows or from their "special place" but tough titty, they'll get used to it.!!
Fancy having a go now, Harry? What with six stone of alsatian on the loose with three of his mates, all with serious attitude problems when it comes to trespassers?
In the meantime, herons can go to Grantham.