Last night we were blanketed in white fog that buffered the normal night sounds,
I took the dog out for him to have the last sniffs of the night along the lane to check out the latest on Dog-blog and for him to post a comment. It was eerily quiet, more suited to that of the forthcoming Halloween evening. Just as I was thinking that thought, in the trees above me, came a haunting "kee-wick ... kee-wick" .. the lilting call of a hunting Tawny Owl.
The jackdaws were quiet last night, unusual for them. They roost on a very tall tree in the old quarry behind me and seem able to natter the night away as though the dark hours are not for sleeping. What on earth do talk about?
Over the last months I've given this much thought as I've observed them and their antics.
They start their day early, chat-nattering in their council canopy. I can imagine them discussing the state of the human economy and laughing out loudly that they don't have such complicated problems. It seems as if, for them at least ... life is just one big adventure.
Not being seasonal migrants they listened to the swallows debating "Shall we go, or stay a little longer?" and scoffed at such stupidity, "Fancy, flying all that way and not eating!"
They've also listened to the owls hunting in the dark and laughed at such a hard way to get a meal; and as for those humans carrying heavy bags of shopping, "How ridiculous!"
But they have slightly envied the posh racing pigeons in their cosy cots, getting high quality food, but there again they, get locked in before sunset and are released long after dawn. The same applies to those dumb clucking chickens in their fenced in run, who don't even fly! How degrading is that for a bird?
So, from their tall tree, they rain down insults to the cooped and cotted, throughout all hours of the day and night. Creating taunting jokes and chuckling self gratifyingly.
At a time of morning, suitable to them they stretch their wings and raucously begin their day. Flying fast along the streets at speed and perching briefly on various roof tops to see if the bipeds beneath have thrown out scraps of bread, then after swooping down to scare the drivers silly with their mocking agility they rejoin their mates who cheekily cheer from the chimney pots.
But having had enough human humiliating fun, they form wings and squadrons and go off hunting in the great open spaces for a day of aerobatic battles and feasting and on the wide expanses of moorland and in the local farmers fields up on the mountain.
Here they taunt the rooks and crows with their wing turns and barrel rolls, showing off their agility and muttering obscenities at snooty magpies. Daring each other to swagger jauntily up close to sheep and cattle, then almost losing their balance with laughter as one of their mates nearly gets swiped by a heavy hoof or a swishing tail.
Life to them is just one continual game.
As day light dims ... having had an adventurous time away, they join together for their big aerial display at the sunset end of the day. Showing off their team co-ordination as they form dark, swift moving clouds against the light-fading skies, coming in to roost, creating a loud clattering racket. Then they take off again to do a few more circuits just for fun and basically because they don't have to be in for tea and because they can.
All this they will noisily discuss for hours, well into the deep-dim light of darkness. Boasting and bragging laughingly to the now cooped up chickens and pigeons beneath their home in the quarry; reminding me of the drunks coming home late from the pubs.
Is that it for the night?
No! What starts them off I don't know, maybe a foraging fox or the owls out for a midnight feast, but they start up jack-nattering all over again. Somehow I don't think they are discussing the mental gymnastics of quantum physics or contemplating such vast and as yet unanswerable questions as "Where does the universe end?" Maybe I'm wrong.
The jackdaws were quiet last night, unusual for them. They roost on a very tall tree in the old quarry behind me and seem able to natter the night away as though the dark hours are not for sleeping. What on earth do talk about?
Over the last months I've given this much thought as I've observed them and their antics.
Not being seasonal migrants they listened to the swallows debating "Shall we go, or stay a little longer?" and scoffed at such stupidity, "Fancy, flying all that way and not eating!"
They've also listened to the owls hunting in the dark and laughed at such a hard way to get a meal; and as for those humans carrying heavy bags of shopping, "How ridiculous!"
But they have slightly envied the posh racing pigeons in their cosy cots, getting high quality food, but there again they, get locked in before sunset and are released long after dawn. The same applies to those dumb clucking chickens in their fenced in run, who don't even fly! How degrading is that for a bird?
So, from their tall tree, they rain down insults to the cooped and cotted, throughout all hours of the day and night. Creating taunting jokes and chuckling self gratifyingly.
At a time of morning, suitable to them they stretch their wings and raucously begin their day. Flying fast along the streets at speed and perching briefly on various roof tops to see if the bipeds beneath have thrown out scraps of bread, then after swooping down to scare the drivers silly with their mocking agility they rejoin their mates who cheekily cheer from the chimney pots.
But having had enough human humiliating fun, they form wings and squadrons and go off hunting in the great open spaces for a day of aerobatic battles and feasting and on the wide expanses of moorland and in the local farmers fields up on the mountain.
Here they taunt the rooks and crows with their wing turns and barrel rolls, showing off their agility and muttering obscenities at snooty magpies. Daring each other to swagger jauntily up close to sheep and cattle, then almost losing their balance with laughter as one of their mates nearly gets swiped by a heavy hoof or a swishing tail.
Life to them is just one continual game.
As day light dims ... having had an adventurous time away, they join together for their big aerial display at the sunset end of the day. Showing off their team co-ordination as they form dark, swift moving clouds against the light-fading skies, coming in to roost, creating a loud clattering racket. Then they take off again to do a few more circuits just for fun and basically because they don't have to be in for tea and because they can.
Is that it for the night?
No! What starts them off I don't know, maybe a foraging fox or the owls out for a midnight feast, but they start up jack-nattering all over again. Somehow I don't think they are discussing the mental gymnastics of quantum physics or contemplating such vast and as yet unanswerable questions as "Where does the universe end?" Maybe I'm wrong.
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