When mentioning the sparrowhawk in my last post, I almost added that we haven't actually seen it catch anything. Presumably it does, otherwise it wouldn't hang about here so much; and it may be responsible for some of the little piles of feathers that appear from time to time about the garden. Yesterday, however, I witnessed it striking lucky. I was in the new greenhouse (having a ponder about greenhousy things) when a woodpigeon flew onto the wall under the rowan, looking hunched, slow and unhappy. This usually means that it knows its time has come, and in such circumstances pigeons tend to find a sheltered spot on the ground in which to sit down and expire. After a few minutes it flew onto the lawn and laboriously made its way towards the border under the dining room window. It never made it, though, because the sparrowhawk appeared from nowhere, landed on it and dispatched it with considerable efficiency, then tucked into a generous supper. Other birds of course made themselves scarce, except for a hen blackbird who had been picking over the soil among the raspberry canes and who opted to crouch down behind a clump of grass, doing a very convincing impression of a clod of earth. After a while a male pheasant turned up to scavenge for seeds dropped under the feeder, and actually wandered over to see what the hawk was doing, getting within about 15 feet of it; either it was a very dim pheasant, or it worked out that the hawk had quite enough food for the moment and wasn't about to attack anything else for a bit. The meal was still going on when dusk fell, so I left the hawk to get on with it with a view to clearing up after it in the morning. I was actually very keen for it to leave as little behind as possible, both because I don't much like having to deal with dismembered remains and also because of the difficulty of finding somewhere in this garden, with its shallow soil, to dig a deep enough hole to bury something the size of a woodpigeon. I had to do that last year, when a sick pigeon expired on the patio, and I had to excavate a shallow grave for it.
This morning, however, there was only a pile of feathers on the lawn; not even a wing or tail, let alone the bones. Down in the damson hedge at the bottom of the garden I found more feathers - but I doubt if the hawk had taken the carcass there; it would have had to drag it at ground level, which is more the action of an animal than a bird, and it would have had to eat all the bones. So my guess is that the hawk left the carcass, which was picked up, and devoured (bones and all) in the shelter of the hedge, by a four-legged predator - perhaps a cat but also possibly a fox. At least the poor pigeon had a swift end, and nature dealt with the body in its own efficient way. And no need for another shallow grave.
More cheerfully, a little flock of long-tailed tits passed through the garden this afternoon, all trying to get onto the peanut container for a quick snack before flitting off into the neighbouring gardens. This week's partridge tally was 20, all wandering off in a long line past the back door, over the drive and out on to the road. We also have two dunnocks feeding together; already paired up in preparation for spring. And the mistle thrush has been around, as has a male bullfinch.
The weather is still mild, and there has been little rain, but the air is very damp and the lawn is now much too wet for cutting. There has been some fog but no frost; and rain is coming in the next few days.
The plant picture has changed little, but walking down the garden one day I was stopped in my tracks by a trace of scent; yes, the winter honeysuckle on the other side of the garden had put out two tiny flowers. It's remarkable how the fragrance carries. It's an ungainly shrub, but I can forgive it a lot for its winter flowers.
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