A HINT OF SPRING BRINGS ... CONFUSION

Or how some birds are having an identity & gender crisis ..

PHEASANT SURPRISE: He's looking for a mate but Frank sits on the 

fence when it comes to finding the right one

 SPRING might not have yet sprung but it is clear from the activity of the birds they sense it's just around the corner. However, there has been an array - and display - of confusing antics from some of the birds here in the Borders.
 For instance Frank, my white pheasant, is obviously in need of a mate but his amorous intentions towards the hens, in particular Thumberlina, have caused quite a flap.
 His little grunts, dance and wing display infront of the Scots Dumpys has caused Horatio, the cockerel, no end of alarm and despite his own wing-flapping and aggressive stance towards the romeo pheasant, Frank

THUMBERLINA is not at all interested

in anyone but Horatio the cockerel

appears to be undeterred. He is, without doubt, lonely and has been ever since a fox took his mate last year. However trying to get my hands on a white hen pheasant has proved challenging to say the least.
 White pheasants are unusual and the reason why Frank has probably survived the local shooting season two years running is that veteran hunters do their best to avoid bringing down white pheasants as some shoots impose penalties (for fun) which can run into hundreds of pounds.
 But loneliness is not just affecting Frank. The most recent to lose his companions - Ant my Bourbon Red turkey - has started to try and strut his stuff among a bevvy of new peahens who arrived last autumn. Fanning his feathers like the adult peacocks is just not impressing, or fooling, anyone and I'm having to decide if I should consign him to the cooking pot or get him some new turkey friends.

DOWN IN THE DUMPS: Poor Ant

THIS WAY LADIES: I'm a peacock
not a turkey, seriously!

 He either looks manically depressed (eyes left) or is trying to copy the Indian and white peacocks, and failing miserably which sends him into the utter depths of despair, (eyes right).

 But perhaps the strangest sight of all is brought to you courtesy of one of four peahens I acquired from a place near Dundee towards the end of last year. The quartet are aged between eight and eighteen months old and were brought in after it became clear the peacocks were facing a severe shortage of companions from the opposite sex.

 However, as the following photographs show, there's some confusion over the exact role the peahens will be playing when Spring is finally sprung.

 

 This one has gone all butch and  started fanning her feathers out like her male counterparts. She's barely a year old but she looks so funny as she twirls around spreading out her meagre display of quills followed by the stamping of her feet.
 Her three mates look on bemused and bewildered but she just started doing this, especially on a morning, in response to the peacocks doing exactly the same. However, as you can see from the photographs below, they actually have plumage worthy of spreading and showing off. Their displays can be quite stunning and impressive and yet their feathers are still not fully developed.

COPY ME: It seems some of the otherbirds

are copying Harry & his mates

 Ed, photographed in full display below, arrived unwanted from a posh place near Warwick where his loud, rooftop screeching was driving local folk mad. He is one of two Indian peacocks, the other being Albert who lost his 'Victoria' to the fox last year.

INSPIRING: Ed shows of his new feathers

 Joining Ed and Albert is Harry, above right, a bit of a dandy who has just started to get all of his white feathers back after going through a bit of a shabby stage. His partner Philomenia was one of two white peahens but her companion became yet another victim of the fox in 2014.
 On an evening all of the peafowl roost in one of the tallest trees nearby and don't come down until they are sure the area is fox-free. I'm hopeful they will remain as alert throughout the coming year although, despite all the foxes taken by the local Jed Forest hunt, I saw one blighter just before dusk a few days ago. I swear he was grinning as he looked back towards me.

HOOTS MON* ...

.. "It's a braw bricht moonlicht nicht the nicht."

EYES WIDE SHUT: Fred being placed back in 

his Achica box after a feed

 IT WAS freezing cold but the night sky was illuminated by a full, bright moon in a star-studded sky.

 I had been following a big log-carrying lorry towards the Scottish Borders and was driving with extreme caution due to black ice when I noticed something fluffy, swirling around by the lorry's downdraft as we approached Catcleugh Reservoir just north of Otterburn.

 Ever curious - even at 2am - I slowed down and then reversed quarter of a mile until I found what I was looking for ... there, sitting blinking in the middle of the road was a Tawny owl looking slightly dazed and confused.

 As I walked towards the little fellow I half expected him to flap his wings and vanish but he sat there and allowed me to pick him up. His only response was to dig his talons around my fingers as though he was seeking some sort of comfort or reassurance that he was safe. Well that's what I thought anyway.

 I phoned ahead to he-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is to tell him to expect another guest and then told the story. Hubby is always peeved these little adventures happen when he's not around and so tried to remain unimpressed with my find when I arrived home.

TIRED & UNEMOTIONAL: Fred looks fed-up

with life

 After a quick check on Google I found an old Achica box and fashioned it in to the sort of home a tawny Owl would feel comfortable in and then put him in an outhouse for what remained of the night.

 The following morning I called an animal helpline but it was so busy I decided to try and sort out my feathered companion myself, via picking up information on the 'net.
 Surprisingly, my new best friend was uber calm making me wonder if he was, perhaps, still dazed and confused. He allowed me to pick him up, this time I was wearing red gloves so when he dug in his talons the experience was not as painful as it had been the night before.
 He didn't flap his wings and he allowed me to stroke his feathers.
 I called a friend of mine who keeps birds of prey and he suggested I try feeding the bird with day old chicks and let me have three which I set about chopping and skinning. Not a pleasant task and as it turned out, the owl could not be tempted by the bloody morsels.
 After consulting another owl website I managed to persuade him to take a couple of spoonfuls of catfood but it was obvious he needed specialist help.
 Within half an hour of calling the Scottish Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (suggested via Twitter by some friends) a wonderful lady arrived in her SSPCA van and inspected Fred; he was named by my daughter.
 The lady, obviously far more experienced at handling owls than me, spread out his wings out and felt around his body and concluded that nothing seemd broken. He was, she said, very boney and underweight suggesting he might just be weak, stressed and in shock which would explain his apathetic appearance.
 She placed him gently in an appropriate owl-carrying box and said he would be cared for in a wildelife centre in Alloa, Clackmannashire until he gets better. She did say she'd let me know of his progress and, of course, I shall pass on any news to you via this blog.
 The SSPCA does a grand job so if you have any pennies to spare you can donate here as they help all sorts of creatures in distress.

* Hoots Mon: Was in the pop charts in 1958 and you can download now for those of you who want to take a trip down Memory Lane