Another Dog Walk in the Fenland.

My wife, Carole, and I drove to Coates in the Fenland. There is a small road by the side of John Deer agriculture tractor plant. It goes down to a river. Here there is another dyke and a bridle path that stretches for miles in either direction. We took our little dog Darcey with us. She seemed excited by the new smells of a new place that she had not visited before. 

It was a blustery day and the first thing we see upon getting out of the car was a Hawk battling against the wind. I could not make out if it was a Marsh Harrier or a Red Kite. I managed to get a few photoshoots but it was far away. 

We went through a turnstile and Darcey shot off along the path. I heard a strange and unfamiliar bird call. My wife said it was a Kingfisher. She spotted it in a bush and kept trying to point it out amid this cluster of foliage that overhung a stream. For the life of me, I could not make the creature out. Carole kept trying to point to the bird so that I could get a photo shot. I think she was getting frustrated with me in the end. She grabbed the camera from me and took a few shots. I then see its turquoise blue plumage as it sped off along the stream.

The Kingfisher I could not see.

The Fenland Field of Roses.

Yesterday, Monday the 3^rd of September was a very hot day. I went into the rural Fenland collecting fly-tipping and emptying the smaller village bins. From one end of the Fenland to the other. Close to the Lincolnshire and Norfolk borders. Tydd St Giles, Tyd Gote, Four Gotes, Foul Anchor. These little villages looked resplendent in the dying summer. A last and late burst before the autumn starts to set in.

We finished down a country lane with harvested fields in all directions. All with the exception of one field. I looked out at the colourful array of roses. All various colours. They looked ripe for the picking. Gardens up and down the country waiting for new Rose bushes of a colour one may choose at leisure.  

A Splendid English Sunny Afternoon for a Saint George's Day Fair.

My wife and I took a midday stroll along the river bank towards the town centre. The high road had been closed off and there were hundreds of stools selling all types of things. Everywhere were the English flags of Saint George. All the canal boats were adorned with them and the small town centre was buzzing with activity around the Saint George's Day fair. 

I always like the cheese stools and the bread stool. I bought a caramelised red onion 'Nibble Nose' cheddar. The 'Nibble Nose' was the brand name. Plus an Italian Tomato and Basil cheese. When I got home I was able to eat some with the special bread of melted cheese and pitted olives inside the dough. This was also Italian. After a little wander about the fair attractions, we bought a few other things including some salted caramel fudge. It was a bit too surgery for me, but my wife Carole loves it.  

Back home, we sat in the garden for the sunny afternoon eating our fairground market buys. I had a Guinness to help me wash down my bread and cheese.

Wildlife and the Fenland Garden

Wildlife and the Fenland Garden

Away from the smoke of the city. The countryside is ambient and calming.

I Love the Fenlands

The Fenland

The entire area is tranquil. There are a few old market towns but most of the Fenland is like the video below. Much of this is what I see every day. Coming from a big city, I found it hard to adjust at first. Then it gradually grew on me. When I visit my old abode, I can't wait to get back to this tranquil solitude. The way of life is different. No one is in a rush. It looks bleak in the winter but the Fenland is far from this. Things happen all of the time.

The Fenland Garden

An Ambient Little Pond Feature for the Fenland Garden

One of the sad and annoying things about my job is fly-tipping. I live in a very rural and beautiful part of England. Yet still, we have the odd few who spoil the countryside. They drive out into the isolated areas and get rid of their rubbish in a small layby or wooded area. Sometimes I find the odd thing of use. However, the vast amount is garbage.

A short time ago, I found the mould of a small garden pond. It was dumped along with fly-tipping down a country lane. It was brand new. Never used. There were no punctures and I was at a loss as to why it was cast away. I brought it home and left it in the garden before returning to work. When I returned home after work, my wife Carole had dug a hole and placed the pond within. We had a lot of loose stone and rock which she had placed around the pond. Filled with enthusiasm, we went for a drive to the village of Murrow. There is an aquatic pond life centre there. Here we purchased a water pump and waterfall. We also bought some oxygenating plants.

We were like a couple of excited school kids. In no time at all, the filter pump and waterfall were working. The pond plants were put in. Our next trip was to a huge garden centre where we bought rockery alpine plants and peat. We even stopped and picked up bags of horse manure. Carole and I were on a roll. Our garden pond would be a delightful addition to the already developing garden. A couple of days later we acquired some pond fish. Six in all. In no time, we were sitting on the decking and listening to the ambient sound of the water feature and the waterfall. The alpine plants took to the task of enhancing our wonderful pond feature. It all looked and sounded relaxing.

Marsh Harrier

The bird hides of Manea

Everything is wonderful in the Fenland when it is summer. The winter has its appeal too. However, the fields are no longer full of vibrant crops. Everything is back to the ploughed and furrowed earth. The birds of prey are always easier to spot in the leafless trees. Especially the Common Buzzards as they stand sentinel over the bleak rutted fields. Often we go out down the country lanes towards a village called Manea. There are bird hides here. These scattered hides command a view across a Fen that floods and turns into a lake from November to March. The River Delph bursts its banks and the marshy meadows become a natural floodplain. In the distance, and often through marshland mist, we can see the spire of Ely Cathedral.

The appearance of the lake attracts all sorts of waterfowl. They are bobbing about in their hundreds. Various breeds. Carole, and I sit in the hides for a few hours looking at the many birds. I’m just interested in the birds of prey. The marshy fen is a favourite haunt for the many Marsh Harriers that come across the lake. The waterfowl always give us a warning when such graceful predators are gliding by. The game birds all start squawking and scattering. Their wings flapping in panic as they try to make way for the raptor. The spot that is vacated by the flustered multitude is always where the more fearsome bird’s flight path will be. I home in with the camera and hope for the best. Through the melee of confusion comes the unwelcome guest. Usually, the Harrier is too far off to get a good photo shot, but sometimes the odd one comes out fine. There are also other birds of prey to see. We have seen Hobbys, Buzzards, Red Kites, Kestrels and a Short Eared Owl. These raptors are always about the isolated bird hides. Carole and I go here regularly through the year.

During this summer, the lake vanishes and one can see the River Delph. The fields are occupied by grazing cattle again. The whole scene looks fresh and new. The trees are full of lush green leaves when they were bleak and bare a few months earlier. The whole land has come to life. The spring and summer bring swallows and swifts. There is a Kingfisher that comes along the River on the hunting patrol. There are rivers and Kingfishers everywhere. Also Reed Buntings and Reed Warblers.

The Hobby.

Fenland Birds of Prey

Common Buzzards, Red Kites, Marsh Harriers, Sparrow Hawks, Hobbys, Kestrels and many types of Owl. I have seen them all in the bird hides of the Fenland.

The Garden is full of Growing Wildlife.

Carole and I have some fabulous days. Not just at the hides but at our home by the open Fenland. Our bungalow looks out across the meadows. She loves the garden and is always tending the flowers and lawn. We have a grand decking area where we sit. Here, we enjoy the summer evenings when I return home from work. Over a period of time, we have put up bird boxes to try and entice Finches and Sparrows etc. The bird boxes have not been taken yet, though we did have a Jenny Wren look one over. Carole says a Jenny Wren male will make several nests. The female will then inspect the various choices of home and choose where to lay her eggs. Sadly our bird box was rejected by the female Jenny Wren. Perhaps next year she might look more favourably on the bird box.

However, in our ceonosis bush, Carole came upon a small nest. The bush is inside the coop where our ducks are kept. Carole was collecting the morning eggs lay. She saw a small Dunnock (hedge sparrow) leave the bush from the top and over the fence. She peeked into the ceonosis bush and found a nest with tiny blue eggs inside. Also, our magnolia tree had a pair of Goldfinches build a nest close to the top of the tree. I took some photos of the Dunnock eggs and then left the tiny birds to do their thing.

We had bird feeding tables put up and we watched the various small Finches, Sparrows, Robins and a Pied Wagtail. A blackbird was using the pond waterfall as a shower each morning and in the afternoon. The whole garden was a hive of activity. We enjoyed watching the creatures of habit. Carole and I were feeling exceptionally pleased with ourselves. In a short time, we noticed the Goldfinches coming backwards and forwards to their nest. Their eggs had hatched and the male and female were taking it in turns to bring food for the young. The three Dunnock eggs hatched too. I managed to get another photo shot of the young.

The Dunnock's Eggs and Nest.

The Hatched Young of the Dunnock.

The Goldfinch Nest.

Then one morning as I was making a cup of tea, Carole came in from the garden. She was all flustered and said that the Goldfinches were jumping from the nest. One had fallen in front of our Ragdoll Cat, Bob. He is fat and very lazy and will not run after anything. But the helpless Goldfinch was right before him. Food from Heaven. He snatched it up, but Carole managed to get the poor thing from his jaws. I went into the garden and heard a fearful commotion from the top of the magnolia tree. The infant Goldfinches came fluttering down from the top of the nest. They were panicking because a group of sparrows were attacking them. They were just shy of fledging and in a terrible dilemma. Three of them landed on the lawn. I gathered the little creatures up and took them into Carole. The sparrows were still making a racket by the nest as I got my step ladders. As I placed them on the tree, the sparrows flew away. I climbed the ladder to the nest and saw the last baby Goldfinch. Sadly, it was blooded and dead.

The Goldfinch that our cat Bob had picked up died soon after. I think it was traumatised by the ordeal. The other three baby Goldfinches were also huddled and quite. Carole phoned the animal sanctuary and they gave us a number of a rescue centre close by. A lady answered and told us to try and keep them warm and in a dark place. We put them in a small hamster cage with some bedding and then in an airing cupboard. In a short time, a volunteer from the charity came up the drive. The lady was another helper from the rescue centre. She began to feed the chicks with a syringe and the little things responded well. One of them started hopping around the cage. The Volunteer seemed very confident that the birds would soon fledge. The woman took the Goldfinches away to nurse them through the final stages of their growing cycle to fledging successfully.

The Goldfinches were attacked by Sparrows.

The Goldfinches Deserted Their Nest

Of the five Goldfinch chicks, only three survived. I would not have realised sparrows could be so destructive. The parent Goldfinches came back and were stressed that their young were gone. They would not know that three of their chicks had survived. Eventually, they abandoned the nest and flew off.

Dunnock (Hedge Sparrow)

The Sparrow Hawk

Over the next few days, the Dunnock chicks left the nest and began to hop about the garden lawn. They always returned back to the Ceonosis bush where their nest was. One day when I was at work, I got a call on my mobile from Carole. She said she was sitting on the decking doing her Sudoku book. She was alerted by a commotion. A Sparrow Hawk had banged into the passionflower shrub growing up the side of the fence. The bird of prey’s high pitched screech filled the air. It was caught up in the vines, but got lose and flew off. It had one of the fledgeling Dunnocks in its talon. There were three of them. Now there were two. When I came home from work, Carole was telling me all about the Sparrow Hawk. We were sitting on the decking and the camera was on the table. Sometimes a Buzzard flew over and I was chancing for a photo shoot. Low and behold. As though on call. The very Sparrow Hawk, Carole spoke of, landed on the fence. It was looking for small birds that went to our bird table. I managed to take a few shots of the little raptor before it shot off. It was so quick. It dived low and then rose across our garden. Then swooped upwards and shot over the fence. Talons first it hit a huge bush in the garden next door. I don’t think it got anything, but it was an attempted strike at some small hedge bird. Carole or I could not see a catch as the Sparrow Hawk flew off.

This raptor passed by on a daily basis. Our garden was part of its hunting ground. The two remaining Dunnocks fledged and moved on. At least that is what we assumed. Also, the other smaller birds that visited the bird table seemed to continue. We never saw another Sparrow Hawk strike in the garden for the rest of the summer. It probably got results in other gardens.

Suddenly the Sparrow Hawk Appeared.

Missing the Company of a Wonderful Dog

A Walk in the Fen is Helpful.

Life and its Beauty.

My workmate and I stopped off by a lake in the village of Manea. It is a small little village in the Fenland of Cambridgeshire, UK. For miles in every direction is fenland. The village houses end abruptly. The fields begin for miles in every direction. There are no suburbs like in cities. It was one of the first delightful things I noticed about the Fens. It was the reason I chose to move here. I have been through much in the past year. The serene stillness of the Fens offers a soothing calm. It does not take the bad things away, but it helps a person to move on. The Fenland on a clear day is kind to the observer.

All my life, I’ve been trying to get away from London. I was born there and I used to remember going on holidays away from London. My Dad would drive out of the city and I could never remember the moment when the urban area vanished and the fields started. I always tried to tell myself I would. I was determined to make a mental note. I told myself, ‘I shall know the point where London finished and the countryside began.’

As the car moved through the traffic and the dirty buildings flitted by, I lost the initial thought. My mind would wander on to other things. I would be talking to my sister. Then to my Mother and Father in the front of our vehicle. Somehow, I would miss the suburbs ending for the fields. I would only realise when the hedgerows and meadows were serenely sailing past. They had been doing so for ages, but I had missed the all-important moment when the ill-favoured city ended and the fields began. I might have sighed with frustration. ‘Oh blast! I did it again.’

I made a mental note never to live in London when I grew up. I would live by the seaside one day. Or in the fields. Well! I have done both. I eventually moved to the seaside. I loved it but decided to move on when I saw the wonderful Fenlands of Cambridgeshire, Norfolk and Lincolnshire. Now I work around the small hamlets and travel the Fens daily. I adore it. I’ve been through many trials and dreadful tribulations on my journey through life. I’m sure most of us do. We get through these things and are where we are. Some things I would not mention, but there are some sentiments that I think are appropriate.

Needing a short time to reflect on issues.

Reflections.

When we stopped today at the fishing lake, it was a crisp cold autumn day. Not freezing, but there was a chill in the air. However, the sky was clear and blue. Earlier in the morning, the fields were covered in a light frost. As the morning progressed, the frost evaporated. The lake looked wonderful with the wildfowl swimming about. I used the morning break to walk around the lake and look out over the Fens. I felt relaxed by the serene setting.

I had been thinking about the many lovely walks I had around Manea and its wonderful bird hides. My memory drifted to our little terrier dog. She had been in a few of the blogs I have written. She was known as ‘Dotty dog Dotty.’ She was a wonderful and loving little mutt. She was so full of life. Only a couple of weeks prior, she had been with us. We thought she would live forever. Then about eight days ago, I noticed she was more subdued than normal.

When I came home from work for an evening, Dotty would race out as soon as my wife opened the door. Her little tail wagging as she jumped up, pleased to see me. She would sit in the armchair like a sentinel waiting for my car to come up the drive. She would know roughly when I was due home. I always had to make a fuss of her before I could do anything else. She would roll over for her tummy to be tickled. This I would do dutifully. For years this happened. Then a few days ago, Dotty came out with her tail wagging. She had barked but was a little slower than usual. I tickled her tummy and she was up and walking back in and straight to her little bed.

I thought it was a little out of character, but then she did the same thing on the following day. She was still the happy little dog but there seemed to be something subdued about her. She was always going back to her bed. I mentioned this to my wife and the stepson Graham. He had got Dotty when she was a puppy. Almost eleven years ago. Both my wife and Graham said they would take Dotty to the vets. The very next day when I came home from work, Dotty came out to greet me, but she was walking rather than jumping about. Her tail swished lazily rather than her usual energetic way.

Dotty Dog Dotty in Her Good Days.

The Vet Gives a Dire Warning.

I made a little fuss of her and upon acceptance, she retired to her bed again. My wife, Carole, said the vet had told her and Graham that Dotty was anaemic. She had suffered with her ears for many years. We put the drops in and cleaned them out for her. But this was something we did often. We could not help feeling that there was something else. They booked up a blood test for Dotty and took her back to the vets.

While at work, I decided to phone up and ask how the results went. Carole said that the results would not come back until around four in the afternoon. It was still morning when I enquired. At about three thirty in the afternoon, Carole phoned back crying. She said the vets had rung back and told her and Graham that Dotty was dying and could go on any day. A healthy dog’s blood count is said to be around fifty. I don’t know what type of measurement that is, but it is something to do with blood, obviously. If a dog slips down to twenty blood count, it is very ill. Dotty was at nine. The vet could not believe the poor thing was still alive.

It was with a very heavy heart that I returned home. Dotty did not come out. She was not sitting sentinel by the window. She was in Graham’s room. However, she must have heard something because when I sat down and began to take my work boots off, I heard the patter of her paws on the laminated flooring. She came walking in, her little tail swishing. She lay down on her side and held her front paws up for a tummy tiggle. I responded dutifully. Then Dotty got up and walked back to Graham’s room. Because she was cold, Graham had put a dog’s jumper on her. We expected her to pass away during the night.

Darcy - The Jack Russell Puppy.

Coming Home to Little Darcy.

I went to work the next morning. I did not disturb anyone as I get up very early. Graham was so worried, he had not been to work. During the day, I phoned up to see if Dotty had made it through the night. She always slept in Graham’s room from a pup. She was devoted to him. Every time he went to bed, Dotty followed. When He got up to work early each morning, Dotty would come into my room to wake me. She knew our routine. I would be up and Dotty would snuggle down and wait for Carole to get up. To my surprise, Dotty had got through the night but her breathing was laboured. Graham had been by her side all night. They decided that Dotty was so ill, she needed to go back to the vet. The vet advised that it would be kinder to put her to sleep or euthanized.

With a heavy heart, Graham decided to go through with it. Carole and Graham were with her when the final moment came. It hit Graham exceptionally hard. He was bereaved and in tears as he carried Dotty away from the vets, wrapped in a blanket. She was buried in her favourite bed and a few of her toys. It was a very poignant moment. He said he would never get another dog. Dotty went very quickly. Just eight days prior, we had no idea. Yet Dotty must have been slipping even when we did not notice. Animals suffer in silence.

The place was so empty without her. Dotty was an excitable and bubbly little terrier. She was so full of life and always about. In every way, she was so loved. Suddenly, our house was empty and we asked if Graham would not get another dog. Perhaps he would reconsider? Dotty had left a void. No other dog could replace this emptiness. But we could make another dog happy. Graham said he could not go through it again.

I was telling my work mate of this. He loves dogs and has had dogs all his life. He knows what it is like when they grow old and pass away. He assured me that Graham would change his mind. People always do.

I was thinking of these things as I walked around the beautiful lake. Beyond was the dyke wall that separated the two rivers where we would walk with Dotty along the bridal path. We had been doing so only a few weeks ago. I phoned Carole to see how she and Graham were baring up. She told me Graham was looking for a Jack Russell dog. He would not wish to replace Dotty, but we needed the feel of a lovely dog around the house. Barking by the five bar gate when someone came close to the boundary. I was pleased that Graham made such a decision. I went back to the van and told my work mate. He laughed happily and replied, “I’ve been there and got the T-shirt.”

When I walked in from work, it was dark. The winter nights are here. I was babbling away to Graham and Carole and they were looking at me grinning. Over by the kitchen units, I saw a little tiny puppy hiding from me. It was not sure what to make of this strange person being me. It was a delightful little female Jack Russell pup. She was a little peach. I coaxed her to come to me and gradually she responded. After a little sniff, she seemed fine. Her name is Darcy. She is unique and will never be Dotty because Dotty will always be a unique little dog we will never forget. I had to say to Graham one thing.

“You will see the same thing happen to this beautiful little dog too, one day. But there will be a wealth of very wonderful times between then and now.”

“I know,” he replied.

We all made a great fuss of little Darcy. She is just ten weeks old and lovely.

Jack Russell Puppy Named Darcy.

Panoramic View From A Balloon.

As I was in the recreation grounds of Chatteris on Saturday, Bob, my workmate directed my attention to a hot air balloon floating over the hamlet. It was moving at speed. Though I could not feel too much of a breeze at ground level. Perhaps the buildings broke the breeze in the parkland where I stood looking up.

Every now and then, a flame ignited from the hanging basket. The orange tongue of flame seemed to flicker just below the hole at the bottom of the balloon. I suppose this was to keep the air inside the balloon warmer than the outside air. Hot air rises and so would the balloon and persons inside the basket.  

I wondered what it was like for the passengers of the hanging basket looking down or out across the retro British panoramic views of the Fenlands. The old fens that never seem to change. Part of me would like to do such a thing, but there is also another part of me that would not like the height up there in the open.

Plodding Along During the Hot Summer Day.

Benwick is a very quiet and tranquil little village in the Fenland. While driving along the country road, one dare not blink as the village could be missed. Driving through without noticing. I stop by the river next to a church graveyard. The birds are singing in the trees and the whole place is alive with nature's summer glory - a wonderful retro British summer scene.

This spot is always a great place to have a cup of tea, so I time my arrival for when it is such. As I sip my tea, I look out and think, "This is what it is all about." To borrow the words of Father Ted. lol.

The Little Jenny Wren Bird

I spoke of the Goldfinches and their rescue after the House Sparrows attacked the nest. I was happy to blog about the Dunnock in the shrub with its nest of tiny turquoise blue eggs. Then this morning, when my wife went to the chicken and duck coops to gather eggs; she noticed the bird box we had put up. A little Jenny Wren flew inside carrying a feather for nest building.

I was pleasantly surprised because I had been speaking to Carole about moving the box where it might be hidden by the crawling plants on the trellis work further along the garden fence. I was thinking that the birds would like somewhere hidden and not exposed as this bird box is.

I’ll have to abandon that idea now because the little Jenny Wrens seem fine with the nest. I’m just worried that carrion birds might spot it. Especially the Jays. We’ll keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best.

And Everyday Life Goes on in the Village of Manea.

With the whole wide world and its problems, the little village of Manea seems oblivious to them all. I think it's why I like coming here of a day to do part of my work rounds. I don't think it changed much over the decades and I doubt it will in the near future too. In every direction, there is nothing but Fenland with the nearest town of Chatteris about 6 miles along one road. Across the two rivers and the flooded fen is Ely, but one needs to go along the road to Chatteris and loop around to get there.

Manea people seem very content and happy with their isolated village. Many stop and say hello, but then everywhere in the Fenland is like this. 

Baby Goldfinches Evicted from Nest by Sparrows.

In an earlier blog, I mentioned a male and female goldfinch that were building a nest in our magnolia tree.

All seemed to be going well and as the days progressed we realised that the goldfinch couple must have had fledgelings. They were coming backwards and forwards and we could hear the chirping birds as they were being fed.

Today my wife called me from the garden, instructing me to catch Bob, our big fat Ragdoll cat. He had reacted to a little fledgeling bird falling from the nest of the magnolia tree. I managed to rescue the bird as he dropped it when I scolded him. Then as we looked up into the tree, there was a commotion occurring with common sparrows attacking the goldfinch nest. More baby goldfinches started to fall through the leaves and branches of the tree. They seemed robust and fluttered to the grass. I say fluttered, but it was more a mishmash of falling while fluttering. Enough to lessen the impact upon the soil. 

We managed to rescue four out of five fledgelings. The fifth was dangling upside down and close to the nest. It was caught between the branches and had suffered an attack by the common sparrows. I got my ladders and tried to rescue it. However, the little goldfinch was already dead with blood about its head. I think it had been pecked to death. The other fledgelings had abandoned the nest - desperately throwing themselves from the nest.  

The four survivors have been put into a box with a towel and we have phoned the local wildlife sanctuary of the Fens to see if anyone can help. I got an answer and someone will phone back at around 9 am. 

Let's hope the poor little things can be saved. They seem rather traumatised and we have been told to keep them warm and in a dark place. Therefore, they are in this box awaiting attention from a wildlife rescue centre.

A Sunny Day Makes All the Difference.

A sunny day makes all the difference when working. You can't beat it when spring comes. The rapeseed seems to have just shot up from nowhere. There was a little bit of hot weather followed by some rain and then more hot weather. Suddenly the fields are all turning yellow as the rapeseed shoots up.

Everywhere I drive through the Fens, there are fields and fields of rapeseed. It is a rewarding time of the year in the Fenland. 

I work in a smashing little town called Chatteris. It's more like a village really. The people are chatty and friendly plus the town is very pleasant indeed.

I used to work in Wisbech, which is a much bigger place with a lot more hustle and bustle going on. Being relocated to the Chatteris round is most enjoyable. 

I love working in rural places and there are also two smaller villages I do on alternate days. One is called Manea and the other is Benwick. These places are so small that if I blinked driving through the village, I would be likely to miss it altogether.

It is wonderful working outdoors, the time seems to pass so quickly. and there is always something of interest. The place is alive with all sorts of Birds of Prey. I see stoats, weasels and foxes. Also muntjac deer too.

I almost hit one of these muntjac deer in my truck the other morning. It was 6 am and I was on my way to Chatteris when two of the deer jumped out of the hedgerow ahead of me. They were panicked by the sight of the van and began to run along the grass verge. However, my van quickly closed the distance. One of the muntjacs was veering out would towards the road as I caught up. I thought the panicking creature was going to veer in front of the van. I have seen many of them as road kill along the lanes. I braised myself but fortunately, the animal veered back onto the verge. As I passed I checked the wing mirror and saw both Muntjac disappear back into the hedgerow, It all happened so fast and could have been fatal for the muntjac.

One can always guess where there are road kills because the hawks tend to circle the areas. Roadkill seems to help birds of prey and the carrion birds too.  

What Little Camouflaged Pipit Birds Are Theses?

I'm not sure if I was looking at a Water Pipit, a Rock Pipit or a Meadow Pipit. The reason being is because a man came into the bird hide, where I was looking out over the flooded Fenland. The River Delph always bursts its bank from November to March. Then it recedes back to the river for spring and summer. The man was all excited because he said he had seen a Water Pipit. I only look for the Birds of Prey like Marsh Harriers, Buzzards and Owls. The other little birds are lost on me because I've never really paid much attention to them and I'm ignorant of many of their names. Therefore, a Water Pipit did not flick any switches for me. Though I acted as though I was knowledgeable. Well... I never admitted to not knowing what he was on about. He went on to say he had got his camera out but his battery was too low. Therefore he had come back in the hope of seeing another the next day.

My wife Carole seems to know a great variety of these little birds and she knew what the man was talking about and had heard of such feathered friends even if she was not totally sure of what one might look like. I rely on her to tell me what is what concerning such things. Slowly, I'm becoming educated. Sometimes she gets it wrong, but we correct the judgement when looking at the bird watchers guides.

The man who spoke of the Water Pipkin did not stay long. He went off along the dyke to the next hide while Carole and I continued to look across the flooded Fenland. I noticed a lot of these tiny little birds running across the mud by the river's edge and started to photograph a few. The were very well camouflaged. I asked Carole and she said they might be Siskins.

I took a few snapshots and when we got home and blew the photos up onto the computer, the little fellas or gal Pipits that were running about, came out rather well. They were tiny little things. When we looked them up, they seemed to be Pipits. Like the little urchins, the man had been speaking of. However, they looked more like Meadow Pipits according to our guide book. Well, the water flooded Fenland does become a meadow in the spring so they may have been. They also looked similar to Rock Pipits too, but there are no rocks about. Of course, they may be Water Pipits but they seemed to lack the colouring according to the bird guide book. Whatever these lovely little birds were, they must be Pipits of some kind and not Siskins. 

If you are a bird watcher; What do you think?

Carole All Pleased With Her Garden's Progress.

As the summer kicks in, the garden will come alive. Soon the wild flowers we have scattered everywhere will spring up. I look forward to plants that over hang and cascade. I like the unconventional look where the flower beds are an undisciplined riot of colour in nooks and crannies here and there.

I'm no gardener but Carole is very good. She assures me that as the summer kicks in, we will have a more developed display than we had last year. If so, it will be great because last years wildflowers looked splendid. We walked around looking at the first little wave of flowers. We know the best is yet to come in greater abundance.

The Kingfisher Gets His Dinner.

Carole and I were walking along the River Nene. We had decided upon an evening stroll to see if we could spot the barn owls. However, it was too early and there was a lot of daylight left. They come out nearer to dusk.

We did see many other types of bird. The whole place was alive with Goldfinches and they were chirping away in the trees and hedges. I saw a few on the telephone cables and snapped some with my camera. I also saw some Chaffinches. 

As we ambled along the canal bank by the house boats, Carole stopped me and said, "There!"

I looked at her and frowned. She was pointing ahead and added. "On the post by the houseboat - a Kingfisher."

As she said it, I made out the turquoise blue of the smashing little river bird. It was perched on a metal bank bannister pole by the moored houseboat. I focused in on the bird and began clicking away with the Nikon D3100. Some of the shots were not sharp enough, but there were a fair few that came out fine. 

After a while, it flew off but I managed to spot it again. It went on the house boat and dived into the water. It then emerged with a fish in its long rapier-like beak. I managed to get another group of shots as the creature went about shaking and banging the captured fish. Making it ready for consumption.