Gull and heron

 

Gull and heron

Lesser black-backed gull

Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Hacking my way through the jungle Doing a little gentle gardening on Sunday, trying to conquer trimming the clematis that was strangling climbing through the Eucalyptus and the Olivers (Swiss willow, Salix Helvetica) I heard a persistent mewing cry, almost like a cat. A gull was calling, which is not unusual, but it was remaining in the same area, not flying on to the nature reserve nearby, as gulls commonly do.

It cried for such a long time that I began to wonder if it was trapped somewhere. Suddenly, it appeared, chasing a heron which was considerably larger than it. We could not identify it, but it was probably either a herring gull or a lesser black-backed gull.

It is too early for eggs or fledglings, unless the quirky weather has disturbed their rhythms. Gulls mate for life and conduct their courtship from late March onwards, through to September, though principally between March and April, after which they build their untidy nests and lay their eggs. Often, they will return to the previous year’s site if the nest is still intact. 

We have seen a heron in the garden several times recently, presumably intent on feeding on our pond fish. They are such nervous birds that it is very difficult to photograph them, though we have managed to snap them from inside the house on a few occasions.

Heron, 2018

However, it is not just fish that herons eat. They are quite opportunistic omnivores, taking snails, rats, frogs, small birds like robins and larger species like wood pigeons. They will even kill and eat other herons. Maybe the heron we saw had been attempting to kill the gull and discovered that it had met its match. We'll never know!

 

Heron, 2023

A to Z challenge 2023 – O is for . . .

 

A to Z challenge 2023 – O is for . . .

My theme for this challenge is Nature in all much of her wonderful diversity. My posts will reflect the fact that I am resident in the south of England.

All photographs in this post are the property of the writer.

O is for Ornithology

 . . . or, more precisely, a bit of birdwatching, mostly in the garden. If nothing else, it made me go through Lightroom and categorise afresh.

We have had 32 different species in our garden. At one time, the starlings were the most prolific and certainly the noisiest, with their bickering and squabbling.

We enjoy seeing any bird that deigns to visit our garden and they all bring a measure of wonder and delight, so I can’t say that we have favourites – they are all favourites when they appear!    

Since we ceded the freedom of the garden to the cats we have stopped feeding the birds, though we have plans to situate a feeder at the top of a pole on the pond fence. We tried a window bird feeder, but it wasn’t successful. Maybe the watchful cats loudly chittering in close proximity to the window were a deterrent.

Herons have visited several times, attracted by the fish in our pond. They have occasionally feasted well, dropping what they don’t want or have finished with on the ground. They are huge birds but so wary that it is extremely difficult to photograph them. If they discern the slightest movement they fly away immediately, often with a harsh cry.

A rarer incomer has been the sparrowhawk. Again, it is a wary creature, although we did surprise one – and ourselves – one day, strolling along the garden path and chancing upon it as it tore into an unfortunate starling.

The rarest visitor has been a racing pigeon. 

 'You put your right foot in, your right foot out,

In out, in out, shake it all about . . . '

It stayed with us for several days and just as we were trying to work out how to capture it, having no experience with handling birds, it departed.

 Whether it reached its Scottish home loft we never did discover. I hope it did – it was so beautiful, in the gleaming good health that only true athletes display. 

Sharing with a juvenile starling

 

The 24th blog of Augustus Lazarus Cooke (Gus)

The 24^th blog of Augustus Lazarus Cooke, (Gus) aged 9.

Hello everybody? Anybody? Is there anyone out there?

I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone had abandoned this blog, just like Mrs H seems to have done! She thinks she’s the only one who’s got lots to do. It’s not even as if Frankie takes up a lot of time now because he’s at school. Humans! They should try being dogs. We have to be alert all the time, guarding the house and barking at the television. We like Kitty Croquettes so we clear up after the cats, too, but the Humans don’t like us doing that and pull faces and tell us to go away. That’s not a nice thing to do to loyal Labradors, or any other faithful dog, for that matter. I suppose they have their reasons.

Talking of devoted dogs (and we all are) Mrs H saw a photograph of Buddy Liver Spots on her Facelook feed the other day. What? Facelook! What’s wrong with that? Oh, Jenna’s just told me it’s FaceBOOK. Well, I didn’t know . . . Anyway, it was a lovely photo. I remember Buddy, and Dominie, but the Dalmatian I remember best is Frodo the Faller. 

(If you want to know why he was called Frodo the Faller you’ll have to read about him here and here and here and here . . . and so on.)

I loved Frodo. I really admired him and wanted to grow up to be as big and strong as him.  I didn’t grow as tall but I’m sure I’m just as strong as he was and quite broad, too.  We all missed Frodo when he travelled on but we had each other and then Roxy came to live with us and she’s a lot of fun. Well, the other day, in the Dreaded Woods, we met a Dalmatian and Bertie and Roxy and I really enjoyed playing with her. I felt as though I was a puppy again. Jenna was very friendly to the Dalmatian, too, but she’s thirteen and doesn’t charge around any more. She prefers to stay close to the Humans because they’re carrying the biscuits and she loves biscuits.

I had to go to the Vet before Christmas because I had a lump on my leg. My Humans thought it was a cyst but it was a tumour and it was benign. Well, the Vets carried out more tests and discovered that it is malignant but very slow-growing. It doesn’t matter to me. It doesn’t hurt. I don’t feel as bad about going to the Vet now as I’ve been quite a lot recently. I met some nice children there the last time I went.

I had to keep going to the Vet because my bandage kept falling down. First I had a lovely, Christmassy red one, then a blue one, then a green one. I was very pleased when I didn’t have to wear a bandage any more because then I could go out for walks again. I can tell you, it’s not much fun being stuck in the house when the others go out.

It was lovely to go out again and it's always fun when Frankie comes with us.

On Christmas Day a heron visited us. The Humans think it was trying to find a way to reach the fish in the pond. It stayed for quite a while.

What else has happened? Oh, yes, there has been a new baby. He’s called Jack and he arrived on Marnie’s birthday. She’s twenty-five and he’s nought! So, Mrs Human went to stay with Bethan for a few days to help with Jack’s big brother, Charlie.

Jack, a few hours old

Brothers!

Gillian and Paul and Callum and Kat came to see us after Christmas. They didn’t bring their dogs, though, so we were a bit disappointed about that.  Roxy was ever so pleased ‘cos she really likes Callum.

I don’t think there’s anything else to report. 

Be good.

Hwyl fawr am nawr! (That’s Welsh for ‘Goodbye for now!’)

Succinctly Yours Week 15

Grandma's Goulash at Succinctly Yours hosts this microfiction meme.

Each week she posts a photographic prompt for inspiration and the challenge is to write a story using no more than 140 characters or words. 

As an extra challenge, a word is offered for inclusion and this week’s word is expedient.

Below is this week's photo followed by my offering. 

The frog waited patiently then flicked out its long, sticky tongue. It gulped and the fly was gone. Then the heron struck. Life is cruel!

(137 characters)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Felicity believed all life was sacred and allowed the creatures in her garden to share the bounty of nature. There was enough for all. The birds were grateful for the caterpillars, slugs and snails, and the fish varied their diet with things beneath and above the water. Dragonflies, those predatory survivors of prehistory, sped through the warm summer air, snapping up slower, less fortunate insects. Even wasps she didn’t mind, so long as they didn’t threaten to sting her.

The one thing she could not tolerate were flies. She hated the way they buzzed around her head and how they blundered into the lamps at night. Flies carried disease and although it was contrary to everything she believed, it was expedient that they were eradicated.

Swatting them improved her reflexes and helped her to become a champion tennis player.

(139 words)

The Killing Field

Warning: this post is not suitable for those of a sensitive disposition. Indeed, I'm finding it quite difficult to compose between shudders!
Our garden is full of life and busyness, most of which we welcome, though some visitors are less than pleasing -hornets, slugs and aphids to name just a few. We're happy to see yellow-necked mice and field mice but sadly we are unlikely to encounter them at the moment for they are prey to rats. The annual rat fest has begun! Barry has shot half a dozen in the last few days but still they come, scurrying along with great purpose, anxious to reach the food so generously scattered by the throngs of birds. There is a good deal of plant cover in the garden and the first indication that a rat or two are in the vicinity is a shaking and a shivering of leaves far too noticeable to be caused by any bird. To begin with, they are wary but soon hunger or greed overcomes them and out they bounce to partake of the feast.
Last year we were puzzled because the corpses disappeared (How now! a rat?) and then we saw a crow tucking into a small body (A rat a day) and voilà the mystery was solved or so we thought.
Yesterday Barry shot another one and its remains disappeared overnight. We didn't hear the creaking of wheels as a cart was trundled through the garden with a man ringing a bell and intoning, 'Bring out your dead' so assumed a crow had helped himself – or herself, they're not choosy. Yet another little life came to an end this afternoon (or was it morning? I've been up such a long time that it feels like bed-time and it's only 4:45 – not even time for tea let alone supper!) There were actually two rats out feeding, of differing sizes, rather worryingly, so obviously from different litters. We haven't seen the mamas and the papas and the full-grown siblings but Barry didn't take kindly to my suggestion that a little night shooting might be in order! He dispatched one and then went out to ensure it was completely dead, firing a few more rounds into it to make absolutely sure. The tiny carcase was well hidden under the dock leaves that grow so willingly to complement the nettles and yet a short while later it was revealed in all its gory glory. Neither of us had moved it and the dogs – fortunately – ignore such horrors. 'It was a crow,' we confidently told each other. Not so! About an hour after this I spotted a magpie having a royal banquet. He – or she – was feeding to allay hunger, not to collect titbits to take to a youngster.

See how it's holding its meal down - just in case it should run off?

There are young magpies around – they are easily recognised by their shorter tails – but this magpie was not feeling magnanimous to its offspring. I suppose we were right in a sense, as magpies are corvids just like carrion crows. So you see, we feed a rich and varied diet to the birds that visit us, sometimes unintentionally, in the matter of herons and sparrowhawks. I wondered idly if the red kite that soars overhead most days might deign to come and dine in our little plot but I think its five-foot wingspan might make it difficult for it to land where the once-upon-a-time rat is lying. I live in the hope of being proved wrong!