The Squirrel and the Apple

It was a typically English autumn morning, the air heavy with water droplets causing a solid wall of thick mist, which felt like a fine rain on your face and soaked your hair and the top layer of your outer garments.

As the morning progressed the mist faded and gradually a weak sun shone highlighting the oranges and yellows of autumn and lifting the dull browns to livelier shades.

I watched a lone squirrel tracking his way round and about leaving pathways on the lawn showing as deeper green where they were swept clear of moisture. Eventually, he came to the old apple tree and sorted through the windfall of apples. He chose a solid globe of gold larger than he was from the tips of his ears to his haunches. After many futile attempts, he managed to carry it up the apple tree, where he sat in a fork between a larger branch and the trunk and proceeded to peel it. He spent a long time using his little teeth to pare the apple, spitting the skin on the lawn below. Then without warning, halfway through his task, he suddenly threw the apple from him and spent several seconds cleaning his mouth and each side of his little face on the mossy tree trunk.

Soon, he followed the apple, but on reaching it, ignored it and went back and forth between the other fallen apples, sniffing, touching, turning and now and again picking one up. Moving across the lawn he found a corncob and came to rest beside it pulling at the individual kernels. He peeled away the outer skin and ate the juicy innards before discarding what was left.

He was soon followed by a cheeky young gentleman in evening dress – a magpie – who eagerly swooped on the corn debris and had a fine meal indeed.

The Dark Fox

Different again tonight. After waiting a very long time a lone fox appeared, but it was not one of our regular fox visitors. It was a very dark colour all over. Its fur was dark from its four legs right up to its ears. It was also very nervous.

It would come forward slowly and hesitantly, then snatch a piece of food and run off with it. Many times, on approach, it didn’t even reach the food because something would startle it and it would hurry off.

Perhaps the nervousness was due to its injury – for this fox had only half a tail. I wondered what had happened to it. If it was a motor vehicle then we must be thankful the fox is still alive. It did not appear to be in any pain, but was so very nervous that I’m glad it found the food tonight.

Fox Pecking Order

Tonight things were very different from last night: instead of three hedgehogs and one fox there were three foxes and one hedgehog. One of the three foxes was a very dominant older fox and the other two were long-legged youngsters. The smaller of the two appeared very hungry and skulked on the sidelines under the low branches of the old apple tree. The other youngster fawned and whined and scouted the food from a distance, obviously very much wanting it, but not courageous enough to take any. If she approached too near or moved too fast the dominant fox would set about her and amid much yipping and yelping she would be driven from the lawn. Every time this drama was enacted, the other young fox would spring out from under the apple tree dash forward and gobble down as much as he could then quickly retreat to his hiding place and adopt a skulking stance waiting for his next opportunity.

Foxes and Hedgehogs

Last night I watched the foxes feed again, but despite sitting motionless in the dark, eyes glued to binoculars, the action was very slow and only one fox turned up. However, on the hedgehog front, it was most exciting as for the first time in a very long time (a few years) we had three hedgehogs here at once. Each was enormous. Two were dark chocolate brown, and the third, who is an infrequent visitor, is so light he almost appears white.

The fox who joined them was very bold. He fed with them and when he had cleared the lawn, he approached each hedgehog, one at a time, and took the food they were eating right out of their mouths. Such audacity! He did it with body low to the ground, head on one side flat against the grass, and with lips turned back. Slowly and gently he stole the food from their mouths.

Hawk Kills Dove

I walked into the kitchen and chanced to glance out of the west-facing window, not quite idly because I always look to see the ducks in the pond or the day-to-day birds feeding by the seat where I put their food. I hope to see a warbler, garden or willow variety, both sorts are here, gladly count another wren, or idly stand and watch the tits flying in and out of the nesting box, but glancing today, I had a sudden intake of breath because there, standing with strong legs far apart, was a sparrowhawk. It stood amid a sea of feathers surrounding “my” collared dove, which, caught in the hawk’s death grip, was wildly thrashing about, but the amount of loose feathers and the patch of pillar-box red on its lower back was testament to its imminent demise.

I was about to throw open the window and halt this violence when I caught myself. What if I interfere with nature? Play God? My collared dove will probably still die. The sparrowhawk will just eat a different bird. So I stayed my hand, and even when the dying dove turned its head and looked straight at me, I did nothing. I let nature take its unsentimental course. I closed my eyes and willed it to die quickly.
It was not to be. Beautiful was the bird of prey and terrible was the spectacle that followed. For a full ten minutes or more the dove struggled before it died. It took the sparrowhawk another forty minutes before he’s eaten his fill.

I wanted to bury the remains, but again thought it kinder to leave them for the fox would gratefully chew on the bones. The feathers were already being gentled across the garden by the softly blowing breeze, and being collected by smaller birds for their nests. The often savage chain of life continues.