Calamity.

I was so very happy to have the owlets hissing and raising a racket as I walked down each evening. I imagined them testing their flying skills on the newly stacked hay and fledgling across the freshly cut hay field. As this past week commenced I realised serious trouble for the owlets and for some of them, my realisation has come too late.

It was last Monday as I walked down early before work and was excited to see a little form on the nest box porch. As I crept stealthily closer it didn't move and I was virtually under the nest box itself when I realised we had lost one of the owlets. Its partially formed wing was draped over the box edge, quite lifeless. I left it there in the hope that the parents would discard it and I could examine its sorry remains for clues of its demise but in their usual unsentimental way the adults ignored it and it was left to Rob throw it down when he was in the straw stack.

It didn't need an expert to ascertain the cause of death. The owlet was about six weeks old with its wing feathers forming nicely but it was little more than skin and bone. It had undoubtedly starved. I increased the feeding yet the following morning I was greeted by an owlet that had tumbled from the box.It was sitting jauntily upon a lorry body eyeing me warily. I wrapped it in my cardigan and laid it upon its back feeling it immediately relax and this was how I waited for Rob and Sam to fetch the ladder and return it to its roost. As I stood quietly I was startled to feel how thin this youngster was too yet I simply couldn't understand why. The weather had been reasonably settled and I hadn't noticed the adults hunting by day which would indicate that they were struggling. We left the kestrel's breakfast in the box with this youngster and I considered the possibility that we may have lost one of the adult birds. This would undoubtedly lead to difficult times and I watched them ever more closely after dark whilst still keeping my distance.

 These events alone would have been a sorry state of affairs yet things were compounded further on the Thursday. Whilst leaving food as close to the box as we dare Sam noticed feathers at the front of the box. A quick photo told us that another owlet had perished. It was probably too old to be the tumbled owlet but as with the first casualty this one was well formed with an almost full set of wing feathers. Once again, it seemed that starvation was the most likely cause.

I racked my brains and asked around for advice. Last year had been a bumper year for barn owls due to the glut of field voles. A year such as this is always followed by a slump in vole numbers. Events began to make sense. My dog spent the whole of last summer pouncing upon voles in the grass field but this year he hasn't done this at all. My cats have not returned home with that obligatory gift of a juicy fat vole for me. It would seem that the owls aren't hunting as there is very little to catch. I considered the weather and another owl enthusiast pointed to the exceptionally dry conditions. Vole eat green shoots and with no rain whatsoever during April and May there were no green shoots to sustain the few voles we had. They wouldn't breed in such conditions.

I was beyond cross with myself for not realising sooner. The hissing and hubbub that I had witnessed and the bravery of the owlets was simply because they were starving. I had a freezer full of food and had I realised I could have left more. Hindsight is a wonderful thing but sadly it is too late for these owlets. I now walk down each evening in enormous trepidation anticipating silence where once there was new life. As yet there appear to be two still alive that hiss urgently. The other positive news is that there still appear to be two adults flying in to feed them. I hope we can save them yet.

But it is not all sadness. The little owls have fledged and I catch sight of their tiny barrelled bodies ricocheting through the air each evening. The kestrel chicks are also on the cusp of fledging and I see at least three of these chittering excitedly as dad flies in with breakfast to their nest box home. Finally, with the summer solstice, the owl that flies in from the north can clearly be seen going to and fro as it collects its share of the cache. Without these other hungry raptors it is true to say my owlets may still be alive but I cannot dictate where the food will go.Although I am immensely sorry and guilt ridden that their little lives were cut short I can only look put this down to bitter experience and look for the positives. With the lockdown easing Paddy will come soon to check the nest box. I hope by then I have happier news to report to you.