Bittersweet times.

It is the most bittersweet of times. The owlets are fledging, growing braver by the day. Having watched how hard their mother has worked to rear them this far and how resilient these youngsters have proved to be in the worst autumn weather I can remember, I feel proud, and scared, joyful and tentative all at once.

At least one leaves the safety of the farmyard each afternoon to try its luck hunting along the dyke sides to the south of the farm. I see it most days, flying in short bursts and staring indignantly into the grass as if its mere presence will scare the voles into submission. When it finds this tactic doesn't work it stares wilfully across at me as if asking me to halt the incessant rain. If only I could.

At the weekend I was concerned that the hissing from the first brood, that had made a cosy teenage roost in west nest box, had ceased. I was sorry to think they might have left the farm but knew this was eventually an inevitability. However the hissing from the shed was incredible. Peeping inside each morning reassured me that there were four or five birds roosting on the roof struts inside. I knew there would be more within the nest box. It appeared that all of the owlets had joined forces and were making use of the warm shed as the weather closed in. It also made feeding them easier as the parents were called to this shed rather than following owlets hissing from all directions. I watched on Monday as mum alighted on the shed door and was immediately ambushed by two youngsters. Has she not taught them any manners?

Each evening brought something new as they grew in confidence. They quickly learned to leave the shed to help themselves to food as soon as they imagined I had left. On Tuesday two deftly flew down and carried off food to the safety of the straw stack, a third chose to take one down onto the ground and was harangued by a hungry sibling who hadn't worked out where to get the food from. A fifth bird chose a different tactic and hovered in a territorial manner over the two on the ground in the hope of scaring them away and securing the food for itself. The night was still and, for once quite dry. I knew it would be a good night for them to explore their surroundings further.

As soon as I entered the farm the following morning I felt uneasy. The dog sensed something different and sniffed frantically, barking at the straw stack yet the source of his angst was no longer present. I found feathers, five maybe six and knew this could just have been a skirmish amongst the youngsters. I also knew I would need to scour the fields on my walk. The longer I pounded the fields the more confident I became that nothing was amiss. I was heading back towards the grass field when I spotted it. An owl, wings splayed, head back, undoubtedly dead but only recently killed. Bloody wounds to its wing joint and neck told me it likely assailant would have been a fox and I did notice a footprint in the soft clay before Max bounded over to destroy any evidence.

There was no ring which meant it was either the second of the young owlets from the shed that was too small to ring in September or one of our adult females that I know is also unringed. Examining the wing feathers showed the bird was a fully fledged female and the pattern, which is unique to each bird, was unfamiliar to me. There was an outside chance that it was a bird from another farm but my instinct told me it was indeed one of our youngsters. I remembered how triumphant I had been to save one of these youngsters from the woodpile. How I had listened to them night after night. How I had watched them only the night before cavorting almost comically across the yard.It had been short lived revelry for this individual. I hoped its death had at least been quick. Carrying it over to our land I realised what a rather pathetic figure I made stooped over this sad pile of feathers. It always seems wrong to bury a bird like this that flies so majestically but I decided to dispose of the body rather than draw attention from other predators.

That evening I knew I had to wait and watch to see if I could ascertain if anyone was missing. Most importantly to try to see if an adult was absent. I left the food and waited a good way off by the farm gate. As if to compound my misery not one bird appeared. I stood  still willing something to happen. It was only when the intruder flew over my head and briefly landed on the platform, before flying back out to the north that the owlets came to life. I thought this bird had been silent in its approach but they heard him and spilled out of the shed each one tumbling after the other. They hissed and mantled over the food seemingly as furious as the adults are that another should dare take their food. It was notable that they all headed for the straw and I wondered what they may have witnessed the night before.

I cannot dwell on the saddest moments of what I do. When we lose a bird I always question the events surrounding its death. Did my feeding encourage it out too soon? Did I not feed enough and force it out thus making it vulnerable? Does producing this many owlets on one site encourage predators. I have to remind myself that I do the best I can and that I make a difference.I cannot do more.

As if the owls knew my melancholy, as if they sensed my bruised emotions they bestowed upon me the most marvellous fly pasts this evening. The usual three adults met me by the house, flying low and keen. As I approached the shed there was a notable absence of hissing but rounding the corner I found three handsome young owls waiting on the platform, staring disconsolately at it as if this alone would conjure up a feast. They too flew round behind the shed. On approaching the straw stack the usual hissing struck up and I counted two more in the west nest box and a further two high up in the straw. My torchlight picked out a further two still inside the shed. I watched with delight as they flew in to take the food, bumping, hissing, mantling and almost colliding in their clumsy haste.  What a treat. What a week. Bittersweet indeed.

Too good to last.

I am so weary of this weather. As I write the rain continues, pouring endlessly from the slate grey expanse. October has gifted us two dry days so far but even those had late showers resulting in wet grass for the owls to hunt in. I hear that the bumper second broods produced countrywide after a glut of voles are struggling. A raptor centre locally has young owls to rear after finding them near starving. I know how lucky my birds are.

But their urgency to secure a free meal from me has increased. The adults fly buoyantly alongside me now. Midweek one flew in to a feeding platform whilst I stood just three steps away. I know because I counted back after it had deftly snatched its tea and flown eastwards to the trees. Such bravado belies desperation. My elation at their greeting is mixed with frustration for them as harsh times make life so difficult for them.

The owlets continue to amuse me. They shriek and hiss at me at dusk when my route takes me past the straw stack. How dare I walk so close without bringing food. After dark their urgency is palpable and I can hear them hissing before I reach the farm yard. Once over by the straw stack I pick them out, peering anxiously at me, daring to stay out as long as they can. Some times they fly along the dyke edge but more often they disappear into the straw. Which ever they choose their insistent hissing continues.

Although I rarely see the adults feed these youngsters I still wait to make sure the female goes into the shed to feed her still dependent younger owlets. She flies back to the shed as soon as I am out of sight and bustles herself with the important job of sustaining the owlets single handedly. I have noticed her this week most mornings hunting along the river. When it was windy this capable, innovative mother hunted from the pipe low down where she can keep an eye out for voles without having to contend with the harshest of the weather.

I have been also been peering through the door chink both mornings and at teatimes on my dog walk. I scour the dusty floor for any owlets in trouble. This seems a compromise between leaving them alone completely and going into the shed each day which would be hugely intrusive as it is rarely opened. On Wednesday, as the sun was leaving us, I peered inside to see three fully feathered owlets perched just outside the nest box peacefully snoozing. As unobtrusively as possible I crept away. I was captivated but my pleasure was short lived.

On Thursday morning I peered inside and immediately saw something white and still, close to the wall. I knew without going inside what it was. Sure enough it was one of the younger owlets as it was unringed, perhaps the one I rescued a week or so back, possibly its younger sibling. It was dead but, to add to my consternation still fairly fresh. Its wings were beginning to form but it was still quite fluffy. I checked the shed thoroughly but all the others seemed to be inside the box.

As is my way I went into overdrive trying to work out the scenario of events leading up to its death. The main question was whether it had died and been ejected from the box or whether it had fallen. It seemed a little too far away to have been cast out, yet I hadn't seen it the night before and there was a fresh day old chick close by. Surely if it had been alive and well on the floor it would have taken the chick. It did however seem very light and I feel that it must have starved. Despite the past couple of days having being dry, the task of keeping five young owlets alive so late in the season had been a job too difficult for our single mum, even with my help.

My worst fear? That actually it was my fault. That in checking them, I inadvertently caused it to fall. Or that later in the evening, in the melee that occurs on my approach with food, this youngster was pushed. Its at times like this that I question what I do. I feel the loss so keenly, I cannot seem to harden myself to such events. I console myself with the fact that these two younger birds would have struggled to fledge so late in the year but still I dwell on the events of mid week. Finally I tell myself it is all pointless the owlet is no more. I will check the box early next spring and make sure it is as safe as possible. I have been debating cameras. This box may be a good site to start with. It would be another clever way to count them out and count them back in again. I resolve not to be defeated and continue, at least for now.

Owl wars

We have owl wars at the farm. There are screeches and sparring and the whirling of wings throughout the evening. For some reason the barn owls are not happy but neither are the little owls. Meanwhile the chittering of a kestrel is now a common vocalisation alerting me to their uneasiness also.

I take what I have observed and try to construct a plausible version of events to explain the owls unease. Perhaps the short eared owl is still making its presence felt. Twice this week I have seen it at dusk flying high and proud along the dykes and ditches that border the farm. This newcomer would certainly worry our resident barn owls and there is a possibility that it has happened upon my twilight banquet.

With the little owls as vocal as the barn owls I wonder if they too have produced second broods and are asserting themselves within the hierarchy. Three  neighbours have told me how these indignant pepper pot raptors have woken them with their incessant chiding this week. I smile to myself remembering the telling off they regularly gave me during June. Young little owls would be a tremendous bonus for October.

Meanwhile the kestrels regularly fly from the straw in alarm, their call less regular, but probably the loudest. I watch these with especial interest wondering which, if any, are the youngsters that were so rudely turned from east nest box by the impatient barn owls. Now fully feathered and flying confidently perhaps they feel it is their turn for superiority.

However as the week progresses I am forced to concede that the rivalry is primarily between the barn owls. On Monday I watch the shed female. By the farm gate I am well hidden but can still see her as she ferries seven prey items up into the shed. This is a relief as I had peeped through the door handle hole earlier and seen one of the younger owlets out of the nest box but roosting on the wood. The female was sitting with it during daylight hours but after dark it had gone.It was reassuring to see so many meals being taken inside and I felt sure once tea arrived this part grown owlet would have determinedly made its way back into the box. While watching this hardworking mum a second owl glided into the farm and perched waiting above her shed entrance. Ever opportunistic it flew down as soon as she disappeared inside to help itself to food. She appeared seemingly furious with the thief and a skirmish ensued directly in front of me. The clashes were audible as the owls wrestled towards the floor.This time the intruder won flying triumphantly out of the farm whilst our resident owl sat on the crew yard wall staring at me as I were somehow to blame.

With rain every day for the whole of October it is possible that other owls are so desperate for food that the shrieks coming from our resident birds are indeed aimed at visiting adults such as this one. They too will have hungry owlets and risk a confrontation in such circumstances. It is also possible that some of our summer brood owlets are returning during these harsh times and are no longer welcome. Last night at dusk I watch an owl inexpertly hunting across the fields, swooping down halfheartedly before landing awkwardly on a willow branch. An cameo brooch on a tatty tweed jacket. I would feed this unfortunate if I could.

But finally, a chink in the weather and I walk down upon dry grass and under clear skies. The owlets are as impudent as ever, bobbing and weaving at my approach and hissing raucously. But the hostility from the adults has ceased. With the opportunity to hunt for themselves the raids on the farm have ceased and the waning moon bathes the yard in a blanket of serenity. For the sake of the resident families I hope this fragile state of affairs can continue.

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.

Scrambling

I am absurdly proud of the owlets. One of my favourite moments of the day happens as I approach the shed and whistle. I am greeted with a cacophony of owlets, hissing and scrambling about. They have learnt that my whistling heralds a food drop and their excitement is palpable. Without seeing them I can imagine the hustle and bustle inside both nest boxes as they rush to receive the offerings they have come to anticipate from the parents upon my arrival. As I am only a few yards from the dutch barn box I can hear these owlets too. It is immensely satisfying to know that I am helping them. October has brought with it some wet and dreary weather, terrible conditions for barn owls. I know the owlets are hungry as the parent birds follow me over to the house once more swooping in quickly and deftly for first helpings and are no longer content to wait for me to leave. It is at times like these that I am pleased they are used to taking the extra food. I can increase supplies and hopefully all will be well.

But my pride is also tinged with apprehension as the older owlets in the dutch barn begin to tentatively explore the straw. Initially I was concerned that one had ventured out and got stuck. It was out at the start of the week and by the second night it looked decidedly dejected. I scrambled into the straw with food and dreamt of starved, tatty bundles of feathers, their lives spent before they had even begun. By mid week the rain gave me a comforting clue. A deluge at teatime meant no owls met me in the straw. The rain had kept them in. They must have been sleeping by day in the nest box and were still inside, safe from the inclement conditions. It seemed I was right. The following night two were dancing in the straw. On my approach they put their heads down, held their wings aloft and half ran, half flew across the top of the straw. I pondered how such graceful birds could look so comical.

With my attention held by the older brood and the incessant hissing from the shed reassuring me, I had not worried unduly about the shed brood of five. I knew that it would be unlikely the female would rear them all this late in the year but judging by the noise I was confident they were thriving. On Saturday I walked through with the dog as usual, barely glancing at the shed. It was when I returned that my brother in law found me and told me there was a young owl that needed help.He had left it by the wood pile and when we returned it had decided it didn't want rescuing and promptly darted underneath the stack. I laid awkwardly in the narrow space and shone my phone torch along. Sure enough there it sat, hunched and dejected.

I am terrible at finding practical solutions but I could see it was still far too young to be out and I determined that I wasn't leaving until it was back in the nest box. I found a piece of wood and put it behind the baby so that it shuffled back to the end where we intended to grab it, but the owlet had other ideas. Yes it headed towards the end but then stood resolutely still. It knew its welcome party were close. Rob fetched me first a net to put over it and then a spade to put under it. Neither worked. but then the owl decided to play dead.  It slumped onto its side in the hope that we would lose interest and leave it alone. This is a great survival tactic but I had seen it too many times. This made things easier. I borrowed some gloves and laid flat in the dirt. At this angle I could just reach one of the owlets outstretched talons. Very gently I pulled it towards me before holding it close to my chest.

Success! I was hauled unceremoniously to my feet and brushed down. My clothes were filthy and my glasses were tangled in my hair but none of it mattered, the owlet was safe. A couple who had called for straw watched the rescue and were quite fascinated. I did my best to persuade them to look into an owl box for themselves before venturing up the ladder. Rob insisted that I was to finish the rescue and so I braved the extremely wobbly ladder. I hate heights. I am not physically adept. So with one hand clutching the owlet I slowly and painfully made my way up to the nest box one rung at a time. Each step seemed to make the ladder wobble ever more precariously and my knees had unhelpfully turned to jelly too. As I approached the box I decided not to look down and focused on the ball of fluff and feathers in my hand. Very tentatively I laid it on the nest box porch. It predictable played dead. A gentle prod from me sent it scrambling back in to its family. A job well done.

Of course afterwards are all the "What could have beens."   What if we hadn't seen it? What if it had stayed in the shed? What if it had been predated? But you can make yourself miserable with "What could have been." I was pleased to realise later that day that it was unringed. This meant it was one of the two youngest of the brood that were too young to ring two weeks ago. I imagined them out of the nest box awaiting mum's return. An overenthusiastic surge from the older owlets would have been enough to send this youngster flying. Hopefully amid the scrambling it will now stay safe. As usual I will be watching closely.

Transition

With the autumn equinox came a notable change. The settled, warm weather we had come to expect has been replaced with something far less predictable. I have exchanged my shorts and thin cotton skirts for jeans and my cosily padded jacket now hangs by the door. Nature is also acting accordingly. The swallows and house martins have flown south. My only sightings are a fleeting glimpse of a straggler hunting the freshly turned fields, scouting for a final meal. As these birds depart I feel lucky to have a close encounter with a newly arrived short eared owl that chose to quarter the river close to the farm for a day or two. Soon my evenings will be punctuated with the sound of  the whooper and bewick swans flying from Scandinavia to winter in the fens. The sound of their joyful calling from the darkness is wonderful to witness.

Our barn owls do not have such drastic changes in their year but, they too, will have to accommodate some startling differences in the coming weeks. I am certain that the abundance of voles is coming to an end. As field after field is turned and cropped ready for next year and as the temperature steadily decreases the voles stop producing young in such prolific numbers. With the weather becoming less predictable the adult owls also need to hunt when they can rather than when they wish to. They are now showing well after dark which tells me they are hungry and so are their families.

I should, and indeed do, feel sympathetic to their plight but am also deeply thrilled, especially when they hear me whistle and fly through the farm lights to wait for me by the farm house. They haven't done this since May and I doubted I would see such behaviour this autumn. My heart sang as I recognised daddy owl perched in his usual position in the ash tree, glaring angrily at the other owls flying in eager anticipation. Some of these owls are new to me. I can tell by their uneasiness with me, but it does not stop them flying in, even when I have a visitor walking with me. They dare themselves to take from the platform, with wings held angel-like and talons outstretched and we are suitably impressed.

There is also a satisfaction in watching the female from the shed. She has a platform by the door and delights me each evening by appearing even as I walk across the farm. She eyes me warily before dropping down to peruse the food. To me it all looks the same but she chooses carefully before flying vertically upwards and diving deftly through the door gap. If I wait I can see her do this time and time again, glaring at me each time, until the platform is empty. The pair with the older brood on the dutch barn frame feed their family barely glancing in her direction. If the shed female has paired with our male he is not supporting her. I have yet to see a second bird take food in for this family and if she is rearing them on her own she will need as much help as she can get.

There is one bird who is not helping but hindering her. Each night, without fail, it flies into her platform as soon as I leave it and before she appears. Without pausing it takes food and flies off into the field. I have no idea where it is going but I am reminded of Mr Swoopy who often raided the farm in previous years to take food back across our fields to the south. Perhaps last night it came back after I had left. I watched two birds spar in the shed lights long after I had left the yard and I suspected this individual was feeling the wrath of daddy owl. I secretly admire this bird's bravado and resolve to defrost a couple more chicks each evening.

With the warmer weather fading the youngsters in the dutch barn box have become more reticent but they are also learning to stay well hidden and curb their curiosity.I begin to anticipate their imminent fledging but am still surprised to see a moon-like face peering at me from the straw on Thursday night. It is quite a distance from the box across to the straw stack and I approach the area in trepidation the following morning yet all appears well and I assume the owlet has returned to the box. However for the past two nights I have seen it again. I know the parents should feed fledglings but still I leave food in the straw. Whether it is the same owl or whether it is a different character exploring its immediate surroundings, whether it returns to the box or whether it roosts in the straw I cannot tell but I hope its story continues to be a happy one.Their transition from helpless owlets to fully fledged adults  has some serious challenges.

Autumn 2019 nest box checks

I have been disproportionately sad., in fact pathetically so. Every evening as I strode purposefully down to the farm I was reminded that the beehive brood had perished,  that is if they had even hatched at all. With the death of their mother it meant just one pair on the farm for the foreseeable future. My feelings were compounded by the lack of owls showing and I hungrily held on to the few sightings I had as Autumn mists and marmalade sunsets replaced the lengthy summer days.

Suddenly, as if someone had opened a cage into the indigo skyscape of the fens, the owls appeared. Paddy suggested this sudden change could be linked to a crash in the vole numbers. Although I continued to feed at dusk, a routine imperative to their nocturnal wanderings, their behaviour changed almost overnight. They were once again waiting for me. Perched on a shed apex, flying sideways from the straw, peering awkwardly from the roof struts and sitting bolt upright on the horizontals of the ash tree. Despite my pessimism I was not as bereft as I had allowed myself to believe.

                                                                What a find!!

There was something more. With their urgency to reach the food they were taking it away before I had rounded the dutch barn which was now heaving with the harvest of hay and straw. Most evenings I had to stand motionless as owls flew back and forth, hastily clearing the platforms clean in just minutes. Often they would see me and stare sternly at me before continuing, too intent to worry about my presence. But it was where they took the food that surprised me most of all. Yes, owls continued to relay food up to the youngsters I knew about in the dutch barn east box and their clattering and hissing reassured me they were healthy and thriving. It was the owls that I saw taking food into the shed that surprised me. I had assumed the female that turned the kestrels youngsters out of their nest box in July was from the shed and looking for a second nest site for her next brood. This activity seemed to point to a second brood also being fed in this first nest box the owls used for first broods in June.

I watched, captivated. Perhaps the first brood had returned when food became scarce yet my observations told me these were adult birds and the amount of food they offered into the shed was substantial. I was lost as to what was going on so when I heard that Paddy was coming to check the nest boxes I was delighted.

                                                            Look at this tummy!

He arrived mid morning and we headed straight down. On entering the shed a low, rhythmic hissing was evident. The nest box was after all occupied for a second time this season. Five white bundles of down were retrieved and taken to the truck to check. Two were too small to ring as this family was aged between twenty four and twelve days old but all of them had bulging tummies. It seemed as if they might need to unzip themselves or loosen a button somewhere to accommodate the large meals they had recently enjoyed. I was allowed to write notes whilst Paddy weighed and measured them. Barn owlets will lay still if placed on their backs. These two were laid in the truck and I was enthralled to see one clasp the others foot with its talons. It looked as if they were holding hands, comforting each other although I feel certain it was just grasping frantically at anything within its reach.

                                                                  Awh

Next we checked the east nest box where we knew the owlets were much bigger. They had taken to peering at me as I walked the dog close by and I had seen glimpses of almost fully formed wings. We watched from ground level as first one, then another were carefully extracted from the inspection hatch and placed in a cloth bag.  Five healthy owlets still sporting down on their heads and outer wings but with their rapidly growing feathers these beauties resembled the adult birds much more readily. These were aged between six and eight weeks.This brood of three males and two females didn't realise they were supposed to lay still on their backs whilst the check took place. They needed their eyes covering to keep them still and when we attempted to take this photo I was reminded of children in their first few days at school who aren't quite sure where they are expected to be and who would far rather follow their own initiative than comply.

                                                            Juggling owls
We checked the other two boxes which gave us no further clues. West nest box was empty and the beehive box had been taken by stock doves. I had hoped Paddy may glean clues from it but it seems our tragic female will keep her secrets, at least for now. We continued down the road to check two other sites less than half a mile from us. I will save these details for another blog as the visits were delightful. Needless to day Paddy was as happy as we were to find this abundance of next generation owls.

On returning to my house over tea and bacon butties we pondered dates. It was an impossibility that the beehive female who was our male birds original mate could have brooded either of these families before she died. There was definitely a third female on site.Whether she had her own mate or had been taken by our resident male as his third wifelet I cannot yet say. I will need to do some serious owl watching to try to make sense of such a conundrum. I will also need to watch closely as these young owls grow and become more active. I cannot say I am disappointed.