BORN IN THE GUTTER

.. During a lightning strike

SNAPPED: Mike Smith snaps the storm

WE HAD the mother of all storms in the Scottish Borders the other night just after enjoying the hottest July day on record ... it was, a storms go, bloody terrifying and one bolt zapped my TV satellite dish sending shards of lightning whizzing around the courtyard. The force of the bolt was so strong it knocked out the power in our home and since hubby was away I thought better of trying to sort out the fuse box until the morning. I went to bed pitying the poor animals outside on a night like that.

 Little did I know that my white peahen Philomena was sitting on eggs overhead. It was only the next day I noticed the peafowl gathering on the roof top staring down at the gutter; they're such curious creatures I knew something was going on and so decided to join in on the spectacle and climbed up the ladder. As I reached the top and peered over the wall there was my lovely white peahen looking slightly ruffled and agitated. Just at her feet was a titchy ball of fluff and as it moved I realised I was looking at the first born of the peafowl; he or she (it'll take some weeks before we find out) looked quite unremarkable bearing in mind the stunning beauty of Harry, the father. I am assuming the white peacock is the father since he and Philomena were bought together. The new mother was flustered. Certainly she had picked a fox proof location to hatch her egg (only one) but there was no way down for the little one and so I decided to intervene. I went back down the ladders and got an old fishing net then returned to the scene and, after some death defying manoevres, scooped up the chick and gingerly returned to terra firma. Once in the courtyard I released Storm (an appropriate name, I think) and Philomena swooped down to be reunited. Harry came around and shared in a family meal before he started getting a tad rough with the youngster and so I moved him on and out.

A NIGHT ON THE TILES: Little Storm at mum's feet

Quite why Harry (left on the left) began pecking the chick's head in such an aggressive way is beyond me but it certainly wasn't a term of endearment from where I was standing.

GOTCHA! Storm in hand

Now I'm going to have to ring around and find out what I should be doing, if anything, to make sure the next generation of peafowl are going to thrive.

* Three of my four missing peahens have now returned none the worse for their experience. I have a feeling they'd found another home in the district for a few weeks and, on hearing the dreadful screeches and mating calls from the peacocks, decided to return.