It must be at least six weeks now since they showed properly for me. I catch sight of them here and there; a white wing across the shed, a solitary figure perched waiting, a faint movement from the beehives as I turn to leave. This current absence is of course good news for the owls as it means that food is plentiful. Conditions have also been perfect for owls to hunt in with the weather continuing settled, warm and dry for so long now. Full tummies make for secretive birds and they have little need of my offerings . Nonetheless if I wait close by after depositing the food I see them fly in. As I stand on the road watching, the male invariably flies back into the shed with food for his mate. One evening I see two alight onto the shed apex. Occasionally another leaves east nest box. Little clues give me sustenance and great comfort.
We have had just two spells of rain in the last month and on these occasions I have looked out for my owls especially keenly knowing they will struggle to hunt and show more quickly for my food. One evening as I walked the dog I sensed that rain was imminent. The air was alive with the promise of some relief for the now parched fields. It had been an especially hot day and after tea the clouds rolled ominously in.
As I set out with the food, despite the twilight, I could see that the sky to the north was black, whilst to the south, stars could still be seen across the buff, grey, patched horizon. I hurried along as my torch picked out the first large splatters of rain. If I was quick I knew the owls would get their tea in time so I hurried along, whistling against the building wind and panning the torch across the deserted farm yard. I am sorry to say that still none were waiting despite the weather, all except a little owl, perched precariously on a tiny swaying branch his almost beetle like appearance at least gave me some solace that my walk was appreciated.
Before I ran back through the gate alarm the rain had begun in earnest, great splodges hit me hard as I faced the torrents and sprinted home. Half way to my front door everything lit up. My initial thought was that in the confusion I had shone my torch upwards but a split second later the menacing rumble of thunder told me that lightening was directly overhead. This encouraged me to put in an extra spurt yet still I reached home wet and dishevelled.
I watched miserably as the rain hammered down scouring the area for any owls that had arrived. The lights of the yard illuminated the sheds and suddenly I caught the merest glimpse of a movement but it was only the weather vane, twisting horribly in the wind and catching the lights on its way. The rain continued relentlessly in swathes. Although I knew it was doing some good I wished it had come by daylight.
The following evening I was delighted to have my visitors waiting once more. They had gone hungry the previous night and were not too proud to sit and wait. My usual male surveyed the others with a look of disdain from the highest pinnacle in the ash tree whilst two others sat a little apart in the walnut tree. As I stand and peruse the scene I am thrilled to see another two arriving across the fields. Perhaps the females left their nest sites for just a fleeting moment to take the food or perhaps younger birds flew in knowing where to fill their tummies. I don't care who they were I am just delighted and reassured that they are still all local.
Since that night my evening visitors have resumed their policy of social distancing and are nowhere to be seen. I check timings in my owl book and apply some rudimentary calculations. Eggs laid two to three days apart and then brooded for thirty two days. Five eggs could mean forty seven days if she sits until the final egg hatches.After this mum broods the barely feathered owlets for a further three weeks totalling sixty eight days. On these calculations I anticipate the hissing of young owlets in a week or two. I can barely wait
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