Breathless

October has been relatively kind to the owls. In previous years we have had severe storms as the second brood owlets fledge. This year they have had to contend with some incessantly wet weather. It is far from the blue skies and still, balmy evenings of summer but the owls can cope with these conditions. The fields continue to succumb to the plough as farmers carve up the owl's summer hunting grounds. Whilst I drove home yesterday I  gazed through the rain smeared window. Field after field reminded me of frosting on chocolate cake as the rain glistened across the flat, expansive fields.

The rain has meant the owls are keener for food. Most mornings this week I walked Max before seven. Most mornings I saw owls, hunting from fence posts, quartering the river and flying through their farm yard domain. As the sun rose I caught them diving for shelter in the dutch barn as the crows  mobbed the owls once again in their haste to claim their sun filled territory. I eagerly anticipated these  sightings, this little snapshot into their sunrise activities.

Feeding each evening has also been a delight. On Monday I watched them fly buoyantly through the farm to meet me by the house but even then I was surprised at the sight that greeted me. Three owls were waiting. One sitting on the fence, undoubtedly a youngster, staring almost stupidly at me before gathering itself and flying into the darkness. Meanwhile two others were dancing low in the field, fluttering almost butterfly like on their new found wings. A fourth was sitting on the nest box front peering down at me with that look of incredulity as if I really shouldn't be there. I love their audacity, their sense of entitlement and their youthful arrogance.

The following night I must have been slightly earlier. That or the weather had kept them in. I waited to watch them over by the dutch barn, sitting inconspicuously on a concrete slab in the shadow of the grain store. Within minutes they appeared, a head swivelling around the nest box edge and then a side stepping motion as first one then another vacated the natal nest. They spilled out onto the straw stack. I tried to count as they appeared one after the other but lost count of them in the fenland darkness. I couldn't tell parents from youngsters now except for the incessant hissing that seemed to reach me from all directions; from beams, from the trailer and from the straw. These youngsters personified confidence.

The brood in the shed are just metres away from all these happenings and I watched keenly to see how, if at all, the two families would interact. The female appeared as usual on the shed door and perused the area. She seemed in little hurry to take the food back inside for her family. She has perfected her technique of flying directly down to the platform that we have fashioned just for her directly under her door roost and flying vertically back up and inside to her hungry brood. I watched in fascination as she took first one, then another back into the shed. Suddenly her attention seemed to be taken by the youngsters in the straw. She glared across at them and without warning flew directly over into  the straw herself. I watched anxiously anticipating a skirmish, awaiting the shrill screech but nothing. A moment later she returned with a day old chick from the platform directly under their box. It was as if she was showing them that no one flustered her.  I realised, with a start, that I wasn't breathing and with some effort gulped in the cold, damp air. I knew I had to leave but how to do it without disturbing them is always a dilemma. I lowered my head and stepped slowly from the shadows walking deliberately towards the gate. It took some determination but I didn't look back.

The following night I was tempted to stay but I knew that the owls needed their space. Having heard very little hissing from the shed brood I waited at the gate to check that mum was taking food in and that all was well. As she seems to be a lone parent for whatever reason I feel compelled to watch and support her more closely. This brood are a few weeks younger and will need plentiful supplies as they build up their weight prior to fledgling. It was reassuring to see her appear on the door frame and I watched with amusement as another owl flew in and took food from her platform.It appeared to be one of our other adults because it took the food directly up to the dutch barn nest box. Without flinching the female flew over and stole one back. They reminded me of school children in a petty argument and I smiled despite myself.  While engrossed in the scene I was surprised to hear the low whirring of an owl as it flew overhead. Of course its wing were silent but as it flew into the farm my presence had startled it resulting in it vocalising its displeasure towards me. This one also flew straight to the shed platform before heading back out of the farm to the north. We often have an owl fly in from here and the realisation that we are supporting another second brood elsewhere filled me with pleasure.

As the week drew to a close and the wet weather continued, I was delighted to see all five owlets from the first brood on my Saturday evening stroll. Two have taken up residence in the west nest box, a sort of teenage den, and probably a much needed space as these beauties grow.They sat outside until I was almost upon them when they jumped into the box and began hissing loudly. A third was in the straw stack dodging my torchlight hiding in  the darkest recesses. I didn't see the other two but could pick out two different vocalisations from the natal nest as they called for the food they knew would arrive imminently. How wonderful. How very satisfying.