Sparrowhawk Accipiter nisus

Before anyone states the obvious, I realise none of the birds above are actually Sparrowhawks. What connects them (apart from the fact they were all in my garden this afternoon) is that they are all Sparrowhawk prey.

I'm a bit obsessed with Sparrowhawks right now, having spent the week researching their ecology for an assignment for college. As a result, I have fallen quite a lot in love with them.

 

Not my photo sadly (how chuffed I would be to take something like this).

Persecuted relentlessly throughout the 19th Century by the Game Industry and then poisoned into virtual eradication by DDT, Dieldrin and Aldrin organochemicals during the 50s and 60s (which caused their egg shells to thin to the point they were not viable for breeding), Sparrowhawks have had full protection under UK law since 1971 and their numbers have recovered. Although you'd be forgiven for not knowing it.

How many of you have seen a Sparrowhawk? 

I can count on one hand the number of times I have, and all of these have been in the last two years when I wasn't looking for them. At each occasion they have been so intent on the hunt that my presence was of secondary importance to it. In fact, Sparrowhawks can be so single-minded when it comes to the catch that they have been known to fly into buildings, cars and pylons, sometimes killing themselves in the process. 

Along with the Kestrel, they are the UKs commonest diurnal raptor, but unlike the Kestrel Sparrowhawks are rarely seen, spending almost all their lives in cover and appearing like a bolt of lightening in the open only when about to snatch their prey, so I consider it an absolute privilege to have had my four close encounters with them.

The most recent was three nights ago. I was outside the front of the house watching one of our male Pipistrelles hunting midges through the gloaming. I was admiring the weave and glide of his wings as he twisted through the air above my head and thinking how lucky we are to have these two boys roosting in the eaves of our house, when out of nowhere and so fast had I blinked I'd have missed it, a female Sparrowhawk swooped through the air and grabbed him. In one swift and graceful arcing movement, she appeared, snatched the bat from the sky and disappeared.

M who was with me missed it, despite my squeak. One minute the bat was there, a tiny black shape in the air, the next the sky was empty.

Two summers ago I was eating my lunch on our patio when a noise like a sheet of paper being ripped cleanly and quickly right next to my ear made me start and, again in a split second, I caught the flash of a Sparrowhawk as it shot past me in a silent 50kmph dive. From the front when tucked into a dive they are virtually invisible, having small heads and narrow wings. This gives them an advantage in the hunt. Most small songbirds simply don't see them coming until it is too late. Plus they fly at less than 35kmph, so the hawk has the speed advantage in a straight dash. But small birds are remarkably well-adapted to announcing the presence of a predator when they get the chance to, and the second they do the entire space is cleared of all small birds as they dive for cover as one. Interestingly, swallows, pigeons and waders are faster flyers than Sparrowhawks. Pigeons- can you believe it? I'll have to tell Ted :o)

Last Spring, walking the dogs through the woods I was nearly flown into by a female. She erupted from the undergrowth with a blackbird clutched in her feet and a ferocious expression of complete concentration on her magnificent hawk features. I found myself shivering, as I looked for a split second into those intelligent, single-minded, bright yellow eyes before she twisted her wings to avoid crashing in to me and disappeared back into cover in complete silence. 

Those kinds of close encounters with wild hawks do something to you. It felt like I'd stepped in to a private world, a place usually hidden from humans, somewhere we walk past but can't see in to and are precluded from. A blessing from The Wild. I was mindful of it and walked like I was under a mild bewitchment, unable to shake it off for most of the rest of that day. I can still recall it: the whole thing which lasted seconds has been imprinted in my memory in slow motion.

My only other sighting was from the car. We'd pulled up at a junction last autumn and two birds fell out of the sky right in front of us, another female Sparrowhawk this time with a pigeon pinned underneath her. As soon as they hit the ground she stuck the claws of both feet into the bird (they have an extra long central toe for this purpose) and spread her wings out and down in a tent shape which I have since learnt is typical of the way these hawks protect their prey from competitors.

Male Sparrowhawks are smaller than the girls, to enable them to hunt in summer forests when the canopy is thick. They take no active role in raising the young directly, but keep the female and then later the babies supplied with food (usually small passerines, or songbirds). The females hunt larger prey like magpies, jays, pigeons and thrushes, so you'll sometimes see them hunting in more open habitats. They'll also take male Sparrowhawks if they can! 

Sparrowhawks are not colonial birds but they are mate-faithful and monogamous, sometimes staying together for years (they live for between 5-10 years, although many male chicks die in the first year). They prefer to nest in young conifers woodlands where there isn't too much open space (this is driven by fear of Goshawks who inhabit older, more open woodlands and who predate Sparrowhawks). With the demise of Goshawks and Pine Marten (their other main predator), Sparrowhawks are now mainly at threat from Tawny Owls who predate their nests, and from habitat destruction. Ironically, re-afforestation policies that support the rotational management of conifer plantations every 40-60 years create ideal habitat for the Sparrowhawk, even if not much else gains by them.


The easiest way to find a Sparrowhawk is to look for their plucking posts- usually an area on or near to the ground where a pile of feathers has been left. These are re-used and are often sited not far from the nesting or roosting site. They do roost in broad leaved woods as well, but their absolute preference is for young, large, conifer woods in valley bottoms, so check your maps and take a walk out into the countryside and see if you can find any signs. If you're fortunate enough to see one you'll know you're one of the few who has.

Hope that was interesting/ useful? And that all are well?

CT :o)

ps- Ted still getting better. Poppy still being ultra well-behaved (which makes us all suspicious!)

Sewing Club, Siskins, Croquet In The Rain & An Update On Teddy

Three days back into the Old Routine and the holidays seem a distant memory. I'm already snowed under with assignments for college which I have made a start on and am plodding through, but today I rebelled and took a day out for Sewing Club at Ma's house.

She'd given me some old cushions a while back and I found some farmyard material in the sale at C&H over the weekend that I thought would go perfectly with them, so this morning I whizzed them up with the aid of Phyllis (sewing machine, remember?) zips and all and I'm pleased with the result. I am fully expecting M to utter the immortal words why do we need more cushions? when he gets home, but I will choose to ignore him :o) As I also made him a cover for his netbook and a zipped bag to store mobile phone/ keys/ office card in when he's cycling to and from work I don't think he's in any position to over-grumble, do you?

Teddy is getting better (thank you for all your get well messages), but he is driving me mad in the process. He HATES taking his pill (twice a day and, now that he's wised up to the fact it was being smuggled in via cheese, involving an ungainly struggle with his jaw, which it turns out he is capable of clamping tight regardless of any treat incentives on offer) and he HATES having his neck dressed twice a day and bright pink sticky V.E.T. bandage applied. Poppy tries to help by offering moral support and then licking the exorbitantly expensive manuka honey I'm treating the eczema with when she thinks I'm not watching, or worse by thieving the cheese bribe I've laid by to make friends with Ted again afterwards. 

As a result, Teddy is giving me the Cold Shoulder Proper, while seeking out every other member of the family to tell his tale of woe to :o( He's been taking himself upstairs (highly illegal) and hiding in F's bedroom, presumably also in an attempt to avoid me and today at sewing club it was Granny he went and chatted to when he had something important to say. Poppy sat on my lap and blew a raspberry at him, which didn't improve the situation, and then Dougal (one of their Westie Cousins) came in and peed on one of the new cushions, just as I was expressing the hope that no one would.

The plus side of that was that I found out quicker than expected that the newly-constructed cushion covers do withstand the attentions of washing machines :o)

In Other News, I've been busy chucking out the final remnants of the cold Uncles Charles infected everyone with on Boxing Day. It's been a whopper- Grandad is on antibiotics and croaking like a frog, Uncle Peter has a throat so sore he can't even swallow water, Uncle Charles has lost his voice and is also on anti-b's. The same day as the Great Passing On Of Germs, Uncle Charles' wife fell out of bed after taking two sleeping pills and didn't realise until she woke on the floor the following morning black and blue, and my ma in law slipped in some turkey fat and bruised her coccyx. M likened the day to Lockerley Village's version of And Then There Were None, as we steadily dropped away stricken one by one like flies.

I finally shook mine off yesterday by losing my temper with it and going for a Very Fast Run with Pops. I figure it had reached Kill Or Cure Time. I left Ted at home because it was dusk and I didn't fancy managing two dogs in the semi-dark on a country lane where cars drive past too fast. Of course when we got home I got the Double Cold Shoulder for not taking him too, but on the plus side the cold has shifted and I did also hear a Tawny Wol calling from the Oak as we ran beneath it, which was Rather Lovely. I imagined it was Bop and felt all warm and sentimental.

While it has at long last got colder here, Hellebores are blooming in the garden, as is the Camelia and the Daphne is also in Full Swing. Down the lane daffodils are nodding and I saw snowdrops last week too. The Siskins have returned in a great flock, twittering away in the tops of the Alders, although one beautiful male did also grace the garden feeders. 
Today's weather has been lovely - bright and clear - but more typical recently has been copious quantities of rain. M and F played croquet in waterproofs in downpours over the weekend (croquet is a vicious game the way they play it, involving an absolute determination to knock each other out (figuratively, although with those mallets and their competitiveness I'm never too sure) so I steer well clear). Despite the torrential downpours, the light is slowly returning and running last night was possible between 4.30 and 5 without over-reliance on a head torch. It's always good when you get that sense of the light coming back :o)

Right, off to dress Teddy's wound AGAIN and apologise AGAIN and apply a new pink bandage AGAIN, and then quite possibly make up a large G&T (again) while cooking tea.

Hope all are well?

CT x

Not A Great Start To My New Year- A Post By Ted

Hello Friends Around The World. I am not feeling too chipper today. On Wednesday, I had a Funny Turn at Granny's and when Mum checked me over she found a small cut on the back of my neck. It was washed and dressed with honey and beeswax (these are Mum's cures for everything) and we all thought that was that.

Only then it started itching. 

So I scratched it. 

Of course.

And then it Got Worse.

Mum trimmed the fur, washed it again with salt water and dressed it again with her special homemade beeswax salve, and - how embarrassing is this - last night I had my back paw wrapped up in a sock and taped to my leg to stop me scratching it! I whimpered all last night, I can tell you (mainly because it was itching and I felt uncomfortable, but also because Mum and Dad's bedroom is right above ours).

This morning, I have been to the V.E.T.  

I can hardly believe it.  It's only the second day of the year for heaven's sake and already I've had to see the V.E.T. And it was an emergency appointment. She was very nice though, and told Mum I've got Wet Eczema (luckily Mum knew how to spell that without looking it up because she's had patients with it before) and it has to be dressed with honey and a bandage twice a day and I've got some antibiotics because it really isn't very nice and I don't fell well. So now I've got this stupid blue bandage wrapped round my neck and I am feeling very sorry for myself indeed.

The only good thing about all of this is that I get to have some cheese with my medicine. Poppy is also allowed some cheese (for looking after me), which I don't mind but I think she should probably get a smaller piece as her neck is fine.

Hopefully I'll be better in a day or two, but in the mean time not even Pigeon Watching is helping.

Mournfully yours,

Ted.

The Sea, The Sea

 

I need the sea. It has a voice for every one of my million emotions. Sometimes, nothing calms me as the sea.

Opening lines for a book I wrote twenty years ago. The sentiment holds true, despite the intervening double decade, proving that you can know yourself Quite Well at twenty or so.

I'm not an on-the-sea or an in-the-sea person, but I feel an intense call coming from it every now and then. The need to be near it, to walk beside it, to feel its spray on my face and to be buffeted by its powerful winds comes every few months and then there is nothing to be done but to go to it and be near it and spend time with it. I get the same feeling about the Stones at Avebury, a place I've been going to for the same twenty-year period. Often I work out later why I needed to go at that precise time, and the same can be said of the sea.

Sometimes, the sea has enough power to give me migraines; sometimes it sucks away grief and anxiety, worry and pain, those things we are all, from time to time, besieged by. Sometimes it can erode all the negative thoughts and emotions in a way nothing else gets close to. Sometimes it energises me and leaves me feeling like I could fly round the world, up to the stars and beyond into the midnight blue unknown, and back again, safely. But most often what it brings is a sense of calm, peace and restoration; a washing clean of grit and hardship.

Today, the wind was whipping and white dollops of foam flew a goodly distance from the swirling white-stallion topped waves that were crashing and rolling, splitting and surging onto the shore. Children played games of dare with it, shrieking and running back up the shingle beach as the waves raced after them. The road was breached and sea-water agitated the tyres of the few cars that remained parked there. 

Pop took one look and made up her mind to avoid it at all costs, displaying perhaps for the first time something approaching a mature sense of assessing her surroundings. Ted was buffeted about and yet walked patiently with us, trusting us to make the right and safe decisions for him, while all the time his fur was blown in all directions and his coat  dampened by the spray. He was glad when we were ready to return to the warmth, protection and stillness of the car. 

I often wonder what would we do without Teddy's steadiness. I suspect he was sent to anchor us all. He came from a rescue centre, did you know that? He was a tiny wee 10 week old Puppy and I was looking for an older dog and hadn't intended to get another Pup. We tell people we rescued him, but in reality I sometimes think it is the other way round. When I am sad, Teddy is there: quiet, unassuming, steady, sitting quietly by my feet watching me in that careful, knowing way he has. When L needs a buddy to confide in he turns to Ted. When M returns from work at night Teddy appears from no-where and sits gazing steadily at him until M gets down on the carpet and the two of them rough and tumble together, putting the cares of the day away where they should be. Goodness knows what we'd have done without him over the last six years. He's been the catalyst for so much good in our lives and yet he is the least demanding of all of us. Teddy reminds me that to be happy in life requires a handful of simple, yet important things: love, warmth, kindness, protection and understanding, with a healthy dollop of fun and the odd wet, whiskery kiss thrown in for good measure. 

So that is what I am wishing for all of you for 2016.

My thanks for keeping pace with life here at Countryside Tales this year. All the best to you and yours.

CT.

Yuletide/ New Year Greetings From Ted

Well, it's been a while, hasn't it, all my friends from Around The World? I hope you've all been keeping up with the Pigeon Watchers Club (or whatever your version of it is, depending on the wildlife in your garden). 

It's been an Eventful Day here at Countryside Tales. First, Poppy woke us all up by sleep-howling at 1am. Mum and Dad came down in their dressing gowns to see what was wrong and found Pop sitting up in her bed blinking and looking unsure about what had just happened. She told me later she'd been having a dream that she was a Wolf, a common dream amongst us dogs.

After breakfast I was sworn at by a squirrel. In my own garden! Before I'd barely had time to digest my breakfast! I ask you! I call that Plain Rude, but then we all know they have no manners whatsoever. It sat in its tree watching us from over the fence and Poppy wagged her tail at it and then it swore at me. It did the full fist waving and everything. I was incensed, I don't mind telling you. What was even worse was it then laughed. I ask you!

Later on Poppy got into a fight with an enormous (to us, because we're only little people) chocolate Lab who, despite being behind it's gate nearly ripped her ears off. Mercifully, Pop was wearing her bra, which acts like a kind of Body Suit, and it took the brunt of the Huge Dog's Teeth so she emerged unscathed. 

There was an Awful Lot Of Swearing. I was Quite Shocked. I didn't know she knew such language and have no idea where she could have got it from. I tried to put my paw over her mouth because the Lab belongs to our new neighbours and they are coming for drinks on Wednesday and what on earth will they think of us, with such language going on? It made my cheeks go Quite Pink listening to it, I can tell you. Poppy was completely unconcerned as usual and finished off with a Rude Gesture as we went round the corner back home for good measure.

Dad says Poppy has the Luck Of The Jack Russell, which as far as I can ascertain is similar to the Luck Of The Irish (Dad should know all about this because he's half Irish himself). I asked mum to explain and she said it was all down to the Angel Poppy takes everywhere with her. Mum says she thinks Poppy's Angel must be on the verge of a nervous breakdown by now after following Pop around everywhere and getting her out of scrapes during the last two years.  
These have included 1) falling off a log down a ravine into a fast flowing river, 2) walking on top of an iced-over puddle, the ice broke and she sank into the water underneath which was above her nose, 3) swimming out of her depth in the river at Houghton and having to be rescued by dad, 4) getting stuck in a piece of trellis at the bottom of the garden and having to be sawn out of it by a very panicky mum as it was round her neck, 5) jumping over the fence twice onto the lane to chase another dog and finally 6) letting herself out through the gate and going to visit the neighbours half a mile up the road and then being returned by them at tea-time.

My own Angel seems to spend most of his time sleeping by comparison. I rarely get into scrapes (unless you count the time I licked a toad and made myself sick and sorry and very sad indeed, as well as a bit frothy at the mouth. In my defence it's hard to resist licking a toad. Try it and you'll see what I mean). 

I meant to write to you all last week but I got the shivers and the shakes and the General Vomiting which wasn't at all nice. Mum thinks this is because I licked a coconut half filled with suet that the magpies had taken off the bird feeder and left on the ground. She thinks they did it deliberately because a) they are clever birds and b) they were all sat in a line of the kitchen roof holding their breath and pointing at me.

You'd think the worst part of feeling unwell would be the feeling unwell part, but no, it turns out the worst bit is going to see the V.E.T. for the check-up. All I'll say is having your temperature taken when you're a dog is not a pleasant experience in any way, shape or form :o(

Anyhoo, I'm better now and Poppy and I have been enjoying illicit Turkey from the fridge when Dad isn't looking. We also got two squeaky bright green trees for Crimble from Father C to replace the pheasants we had at Easter (these have become desiccated, forlorn and Shredded Round The Edges). This is my Tree...

 See how pristine he is, three days after Christmas? And cheerful too.

And this is Poppy's....

Can you Spot The Difference?

Just in case you can't, here's a close-up...

I say no more.

Dougal and Dylan (our Westie cousins) came to stay yesterday. They kindly brought their nice, big, fluffy, warm bed with them for me. I have barely left it since.....

Dylan and Dougal went home yesterday evening, but I made sure to cast a Magic Spell on Dad to make him forget to take the bed with him, which worked as you can see. I've had to allow Poppy on it after receiving a Hard Stare from Mum, but I've got around this by only allowing her on a teeny weeny bit at the far end. I've since heard you can claim Squatters Rights if someone doesn't reclaim something after a set period of time and as Granny hasn't shown up yet to take it back I'm not moving off it for a second.

Pop has got Very Woolly recently and has to have a bath after every outing now because the matted mud on her tummy dries and twists and makes her itchy and she runs round the carpet scrabbling and rubbing bits of mud off on it. She did this through most of the first part of and then there were none the other night and Dad kept shouting at her to stop. In the end he took her upstairs for a bath. She was FURIOUS about this but it made me smile. Especially as I didn't have to have one :o)

I am less keen on water and generally avoid it At All Costs...

Anyway, we're having a Grand Christmas, and it's just been made Even Better by Poppy thieving Mum's bubble and squeak (some kind of cooked mouse-based dish?) which she'd foolishly left on the coffee table in the sitting room with Poppy there unsupervised. After she'd told Pop off, I heard mum say to her that she'd learn that one the hard way because the bubble and squeak has chilli flakes and mustard seeds in it, whatever than means.

Mum also said thank God I'd left the eclairs in the kitchen...

I'm assuming this is some kind of edible treat, even though they look like Elf Shoes to me. 

Anyway, that's Our News for now, so I'll wish you all a Happy New Year (three days early because as you know I am Very Organised) and all the best for a healthy, hearty, pigeony, squirrelly 2016.

Ted :o)

After The Event

As is traditional with my husband's family, I have eaten two Christmas lunches this week. One, we cooked here for everyone on The Day, and the second was provided by my mother in law (who finds it unbearable to go through the Christmas period without cooking at least one turkey) on Boxing Day, at a gathering of the elder statesmen and women of the clan. As a result, you will find a photo of Uncle Charles and Uncle Peter with my father in law above. Uncle Charles is on the far right (with the glasses) and Uncle Peter (aged about 93 but sharp as a pin) is in the middle.

As is traditional, Uncle Peter recited a poem he'd written about the family while we all drank ice cold champers and ate prawn nibbles recycled from the Village Drinks Party at the end of November. Uncle Charles then gave us the full story behind the undertaker-turned-magician he'd met during his recent stay in hospital (which I mentioned a few posts ago). It turned out this was an extraordinary man who'd come through incredible things in his life, notably fleeing Germany as a child during the war and being taught English by a kind woman in her spare time whilst training to be a cabinet maker in the UK, his father having been shot during the war and the family left destitute. Uncle Charles has a knack of getting people to open up, probably because he listens and asks the right questions, but also because having the sparkliest eyes you'll ever see and a huge laugh to go with them rarely proves to be a handicap in life :o)

Anyhoo, there were some splendid anecdotes, as always. Among my favourites were Uncle Peter taking bets with his side of the family on Christmas day about how many bottles of fizz they'd get through (he bet 9, they got through 14 between 6 of them!) and then telling us how he'd been unable to take his false teeth out at night because he couldn't kiss properly without them. Then there was Uncle Charles revealing that he only has two working teeth of his own and Grandad shouting at him to repeat the story because he'd been chewing turkey at the time and couldn't hear a word. 

There were lots of conversations that run thusly: 

Me: 'how are you, Charles?'
Charles: 'At about half past one.'
M: 'No Charles, we're asking how you are?'
Uncle Peter: 'Five bottles.'
Grandad: 'What is it you're all saying?'
Me (trying unsuccessfully to stifle an attack of the giggles) : 'I have absolutely no idea.'

Today, I am mostly detoxing while finishing the clearing up and looking after T and P's doggy cousins who have come to stay for the day. Dougal (pic above) is spending most of the day hiding under the table while Dylan has gone out for an hour's run with M and Poppy over the hills. Teddy, meanwhile, has taken over Dylan and Dougal's bed and is lying on it with his new Christmas Tree toy (as per pics).

I got a new food mixer from M and am trying to think up a suitable name for her. She's cream and looks very elegant in the kitchen. If you've got any thoughts on that score let me know. L got an Xbox 1 and has already had it removed for a period of time due to unreasonable (in my eyes, but perfectly reasonable in his) behaviour. Roll on the start of term.

We've a rash of sociable goings on to get through this week and various clearing out chores which I am looking forward to because I like the feeling of lightness you get by recycling old/ outdated/ no longer required things, and I prefer to travel light. Other than that it's an easy week ahead before we all gear up for work/ school/ uni/ college again.

How about all of you?

CT :o)

Merry Christmas To You All!

Wishing you all a Very Merry Christmas from all of us here at Countryside Tales. Thank you SO MUCH for all your reading, comments, inspiration and good humour over the last year. You are all Very Much Appreciated. I hope you have a great day tomorrow :o)

Love From CT, Ted and Pops XX