Eight of the clock and owls well

We've been home from our holiday for over a fortnight and I'm seriously behind on my blogging. Well, as serious as it gets around here, which isn't very. Unless it's some ecological nightmare. Which it often is, as there's not so much good environmental news these days. When I say 'these days', I mean since the Industrial Revolution at least.

Whoa! That paragraph took on a depressing life of its own. Sorry.

Where was I? Oh, yes, our holiday. The last evening in the cottage was the usual mix of eating perishables from the fridge and frantically trying to remember in what order I packed the car a week and a half ago. A casual look out of the window brought all that to a juddering halt, as there was some small gingery creature tearing around the garden at a rate of knots, weaving in and out of the bushes and sending startled Pheasants in all directions. I called Megan to the window but, predictably, as soon as she arrived, all was calm, without a scamper to be seen or a squawk to be heard. Puzzled, we watched for a bit longer, until eventually a Muntjac deer slowly sauntered into view, gently browsing on vegetation. This was definitely not the source of the high speed capers I had witnessed, so we watched a bit more.

I just wish I had managed to capture the 'Pheasant-scattering' moment.

We were up early the next morning, as we had a long drive ahead, a lunch date in Yorkshire with Sally, my elder daughter, before crossing the Pennines and spending the night in Dumfries. Opening the curtains, I was just in time to see a pale bird flying away across a field. In my sleepy state, I wasn't immediately sure how pale, or indeed how large the bird was. First instinct was an egret, but that didn't really compute with the habitat. By the time I had unearthed my bins and woken up a bit more, the bird was far in the distance, but now I could see that it was a Barn Owl. We watched, enthralled, as it flew low and slow along track verges and fence lines, all the while returning the way it had gone. Eventually it dawned on me that I was holding the wrong piece of optical equipment and I needed a camera, pronto.

With the departure of the owl, I began half-heartedly packing again, but was puzzled to hear a Magpie chattering away very close by. Returning to the lounge window, the sound appeared to be coming from one of the old apple trees which formed the boundary between garden and arable field. Two Magpies were obviously in a state of high dudgeon about something, but I couldn't see what. Megan, who had a better view of the tree from the dining room, reported that there was a Little Owl sat in the tree. See if you can spot it.

It was a lovely end to our stay in Cambridgeshire.