The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1370 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Danny came back a few yards to where I was standing holding my bike–I’d dismounted and was ready to turn round and go back the way we’d come.

“D’you want me to go back and look for her?” he asked.

“What happened to Billie–she was with us wasn’t she?”

“Oh crikey, she was.”

“So that’s two missing. Hold on,” I took out my mobile but I couldn’t get a signal. Damn. “C’mon, let’s go and find them.”

I began to shout for them as we headed back but as yet there was no response. About ten minutes later I spotted the bikes–both leaning against a tree. It didn’t look like a kidnap nor an accident.

I started walking through the bushes and shouted their names. “Shush,” was the response I got back.

Billie appeared with a finger pressed against her lips and motioned me to follow. I leant my bike against theirs and locked all of them. I followed intrigued by the need to keep quiet. Trish was standing behind a tree and had been watching something.

I walked up to her and asked what she was watching. “A woodpecker, look,” she said and at that moment a male great spotted woodpecker flew up to the hole half way up an old ash tree.

He disappeared inside, then moments later he reappeared and flew off again. We waited and about ten minutes later he returned and hopped into the nest.

“How did you spot him?”

“He was drumming on that dead tree behind,” said Trish aged seven and already a better birdwatcher than I. Okay, humble pie time.

“I thought you were lost, sweetheart, next time tell me–alright?”

“But I’d have missed the woodpecker then, Mum.”

Danny came to see and the woodpecker flew back to the drumming spot and gave us a quick riff–Ringo Starr is probably slightly better and has a bigger beak.

“Pity we didn’t have any binoculars with us,” I mused. I’ve got some little ones we could have brought–oh well, next time. At least Billie had the nous to stay with her, so I must be thankful for small mercies.

We all stood and watched our solo drummer, though another not far away was replying–it shows how the idea for native drums came about. Deeper notes travel further–something to do with wave size–hence if you want to listen to Radio while abroad, you have to switch to longwave and then find it with your tuner. It can be a real pain.

We watched as a sparrow hawk flashed by chasing a pigeon of some sort, we couldn’t see if it did or not but the pigeon was really motoring. I suppose I would if my life depended upon it.

Every year we get pigeon fanciers wanting the government to do something about peregrines. Apparently, they eat too many of the stupid pie-gons. It always makes me smile–peregrines love pigeons–to death, so by boosting their numbers, the pigeons that is–it makes them irresistible for peregrines.

I suppose that’s little consolation for someone’s pet, which might be quite valuable, ending up being fed to baby peregrines. If it is some consolation, the peregrines usually pick out the slowest or most brightly marked–frequently the amounts of white of them. It makes sense, the hunters do what brings in the best rate of return for least effort–like the rest of us.

If you’re soaring a thousand or more feet above the prey items flying below, then you need something on which to focus. Peregrine stoops have been measured to pretty high speeds–the hunter, usually it’s the male if they have young–closes his wings and just drops reaching speeds over forty miles an hour, and he opens his talons as he hits his prey–who is probably killed immediately with the shock of it.

He may or may not bind to his prey–if he doesn’t he catches it as it falls, then takes it off to a plucking post. He then supplies the young and their mum with fresh meat. Peregrines are almost exclusively bird eaters, and despite their horrible habits are amazing aerobats–their flying skills and speed are phenomenal–which is why one spotted by a flock of birds causes total panic. It would be like a lioness walking down a crowded street of shoppers.

While we stood watching the woodpecker movement below caught my eye. A stoat was dragging a dead bunny along, which seemed twice its size, reminding me that these pint sized assassins are amazingly strong compared to their prey.

The girls were upset by the recently deceased lagomorph but I tried to point out that Mrs Stoat needed to feed her babies and there were more rabbits than stoats–the food chain guarantees that or stoats start starving to death in numbers.

“How can something that small kill something bigger?” asked Trish, “I mean rabbits have big teeth, Deborah Wilkins had a nasty bite from her bunny; so why can’t they bite the stoat and kill it?”

“I don’t know, especially as buck rabbits will fight each other in the breeding season. I suspect it’s because the stoat is faster and stronger, with razor sharp teeth. It also knows where to strike–usually the neck. They also say that the rabbit become paralysed with fear–I don’t know, I’ve not seen one actually catch its prey, but they are really quick and agile. Even weasels will kill rabbits and they’re only half the size of stoats.”

“Wow,” said Danny, “Maybe I need to do some nature watching.”

“So you can see how they do it?”

“Yeah–why not?”

“I don’t think I’d be entirely happy for you to come out nature watching by yourself.” I made a mental note to mention that I wanted him to come with me the next time I checked our dormouse boxes. At least now I knew he’d enjoy it. Sadly so would Trish, but she’s too young.

The show over, we unlocked the bikes and set off towards the house. Was Trish going to follow in my footsteps? I had no idea–if she did, she’d have the potential to do far more interesting research because she’s cleverer–and she clearly has good observational skills already–but would she get bored–field biology is rather repetitive: walking the territory, doing the counts and crunching the numbers over a long period. Perhaps it suits me because I’m not too clever? Don’t answer that.

We returned home elated with our ride and interaction with nature, the girls had enjoyed it and Danny made me wonder if it could be an area for him to think about either as a career or a hobby. Sometimes you can cope with doing a mediocre job if it funds the things you enjoy doing–I know loads of good amateur racing cyclists do jobs they don’t especially care for but which allow them time to train and race.

After the girls had gone indoors, I called Danny back to help me with the bikes.

“I’m going to be doing a dormouse survey in a week or so’s time–would you like to come with me?”

“What? That’d be soooo kewl, Mum–mee.”

“Don’t tell the others, they’re slightly too young to cope with all the walking and scrambling through undergrowth.”

“No way–that’s brill, Mummy, absolutely brill.” He ran off indoors with more of a spring in his step than he had before. Would that everyone were so easily pleased, I sighed to myself.