Common Darter, Speckled Wood

This beautiful dragonfly (I think it's a Common Darter. If not, can someone correct me?) sat patiently on a piece of wood attached to the pond netting while I took its portrait. An hour later, a Speckled Wood butterfly chose the same perch on which to sun itself.

Birdless in Hillingdon

Maybe it's the time of the year - lots of fruit and seeds - but there have hardly been any birds in the garden apart from the regulars, the wood pigeons, Open Heart Surgery in particular (see early posts for the story of OHS). I was surprised he was still around. It must have been three years ago that I rescued him from the cat, the scars of which he still bears on his breast, but he still rules the lawn, big and bolshy. I did some research and discovered that wood pigeons can live for ten years, so perhaps he still has a few to go.

Apart from fleeting glimpses of a robin and a yellowhammer and the distant yelps of woodpeckers, bird life has been elusive. I wonder if it could be anything to do with the five foxes that regularly scour the lawn, in particular Oliver, who takes up a Sphinx-like position every afternoon, watching for activity in the kitchen. Our neighbour saw a fox grab a pigeon one day, so the birds are probably very wary. Talk about nature red in beak and claw!

Darling Starlings

Glad to report that starlings are doing well in Hillingdon. I saw a very big flock gathered on adjoining rooftops today. They took off and wheeled and whirled like silk streaming in the wind.

My partner has continued to wave his arms and shoo the little fox away, but Oliver keeps returning. Every afternoon at around four, when he knows humans will appear in the kitchen to feed the cat, he takes up a Sphinx-like position on the lawn, lying down facing the patio doors. When he spots us. he waggles his ears enquiringly and of course I can't resist chucking him a handful of cat biscuits. Maybe it's time I bought a sackful of dog biscuits instead. Don't want him to start meowing.

Sibling Rivalry

Poor little Oliver. He's had our garden all to himself for weeks now, but suddenly one of his bigger, stronger siblings, the long-tailed fox that I call Kinky, has found out where he is getting fed and wants to claim the territory for itself. Tonight, Oliver, who is limping on his front right leg, had just hunkered down with a time-expired burger, when Kinky beat him up and snatched it off him. Luckily, all we have to do it wave our arms and Kinky runs away, the rotten coward. Oliver, being more intelligent, looks us in the eye and stands his ground. He knows we're trying to protect him and as soon as Kinky has raced through the hedge into next door, he cocks his head on one side, adopts his most appealing look, and waits to see what we're going to throw out next. Tonight, it was the remains of my veggie pasta. He licked off the tomato sauce (made from home-grown tomatoes), then tackled the spaghetti as if he was suddenly discovering Italian blood. Talk about style and expertise. A pluck, a suck, and it vanished one strand at a time.

Red Admiral

Here's another photo which I have added to my butterfly pic collection. I really need a more expensive camera which takes sharper photos. Any suggestions?

Oliver's brother

Here is an early evening photo of one of Oliver's siblings. This is the nearest to him in size and we call it Kinky, because it has a slight kink in its tail. It lacks Oliver's people skills. Whereas Oliver will spot us and come and sit near the patio doors looking appealing, Kinky will run away when he sees humans, which will probably mean that he will live a full foxy life-span whereas the too friendly Oliver... no, it doesn't bear thinking about. He'll be OK so long as he stays in this garden!

Sounds in flight

When a bird flies past at close quarters, a word often springs into my mind to describe the sound of its wings. The fluffy purr of a sparrow's wings; the clap of a pigeon's (a flock flying over sound like an appreciative audience at a concert); the whirr of a wren. Though when a peregrine falcon flew right past my left ear to grab a bluetit from the bird feeder at my sister's house in Cumbria, I heard nothing as its swoop was completely silent. Even the poor bluetit didn't hear or see what was coming.