Send the Cavalry

I had been in the poly-tunnel and picked a large beefsteak tomato which was fried with basil in olive oil for my breakfast and whilst enjoying the flavour I thought about a message from the eo-sphere. One of my Iberian friends, a member of our small hawking club, sent a message challenging we British with his comments about 'Spanish Gibraltar' and wondering whether we might send the Royal Navy to deal with him although he lives in Madrid! Reconsidering he then suggests we send Bengal Lancers instead?

Strange this should be mentioned since only last month Jenny and I were with the Household Cavalry at their summer camp near our home here in Norfolk, their camp being in the grounds of what was Elveden estate, the decamped home of the Champagne Hawking Club during the Franco Prussian War.

As secretary of our ressurected version of the Champagne Hawking Club I am ever attentive to members concerns and noted that British Gibraltar was barely on the radar at the time of our visit to the cavalry but during briefing and contingency planning sessions we have little doubt it was of course included, although I must admit that I doubt Madrid was mentioned......during tent pegging and pig sticking exercises we saw clearly that skills with the lance and sword have not been lost although perhaps I should make enquiries to ensure that our Iberian club member is given special consideration, troops being made aware of his extensive experience with the sword in the bullring! Of course it might also be of some value that one of our UK members has now considerable experience of horsemanship in his tailor made suit of armour equipping him for the many jousting competitions he has undertaken. With cavalry backup surely there would be no match and Spanish pretences about a land grab easily routed.

Recently pups have arrived here at home and now they start to be amusing as they take their first steps and their first dishes of milk. It can take a while for them to learn that it is not for swimming but once they have licked themselves dry and got the taste they soon come running to the recall whistle which Jenny blows at mealtimes. We have done this for many years with the result that training is half done at weaning, the pup imprinted with the sound of the whistle. It's  just a small step to add the stop whistle so that the often seen period of chaos and loss of control in young pups can be avoided.

About a year ago we moved the dog kennel to a different stable in the yard when the last of our stallions died at the age of twenty three, his box became vacant. A better location for the dogs in a sheltered corner and more involved in general household activity their boredom was changed to relaxed loafing watching events from the concrete bench in the run. Now with the approach of weaning kennel space is required for the bitch who leaves the whelping room having come home to live out the rest of her life after the completion of her field trialling career and this her last litter. A fresh coat of white paint and shiny black tar splash band around the bottom of the walls makes it all gleaming black and white, a pleasure to see and somehow makes the dogs seem much more desirable. The new galvanised pen sections arrive on Monday and it will all be up and running, ready for our new pup to take her place in the pack and Ember to start her new career with the falcons.

These days we only breed our dogs when we want a follower in the team. So every three or four years is quite enough and something to look forward to, and now our new pup has arrived. Meanwhile our politicians seem to get ever more in a muddle - going to war with Syria is voted out so now we have to wonder whether British/Spanish Gibraltar might be jacked higher up the ladder to take everybody's mind off the austerity! Perhaps the Argentinians might be asked to mediate?

Roe Rut

Thirty three degrees, in soaring temperatures and thundery showers breaking what has been a summer drought Roe Buck rut has arrived. The females coming into season was obvious when one walked in front of my car to cross Long Row from a harvested barley field into one of standing golden wheat. Once she would have disappeared amongst the ears but with modern varieties having shorter straw she was visible right across the field as she spread her scent to attract this year's suitor. Following this sign I was out this afternoon to see what Roe are on my shoot? There is much activity with harvest in full swing, tractors and combines in all directions and much noise causing some difficulty using a Roe call in the still heat after lunch. Following a thunder shower it was a very pleasant experience as wood pigeons cooed loudly amongst the oaks in the Victorian hedge whist thermalling buzzards overhead called to each other in a  communal  outing, a cacophany of noises making the soft sounds of deer hard to hear. Sadly lacking any controls we now have too many buzzards and this year the shooting syndicate has given up, another aspect of country life slowly being lost to modern idealism.

As I gently blew my Roe-call hoping to bring a curious buck nearby a sparrowhawk appeared, probably also attracted by my call since the sound is very similar to the eyasses screaming in the nest. She was flying very slowly almost touching the ears of wheat in a thorough search amongst the stems for small birds now living and feeding in the ripe crop. Usual expectation is for the smash and grab style of ambush flight normally seen of this devastatingly effective predator but it was fascinating to see an unusually methodical style of hunting, leisurely flight with every attention to detail as it worked erratically across the endless carpet of ripe corn. For several minutes I watched its strategy, maintained until inevitable success brought today's meal.

Now into August and only nine days from the glorious twelfth, my friend is back from his summer concessionary family holiday in Italy and anxious to get his inter-mewed female Peregrine back on the block ready for the dash north to Caithness. So having prepared 240 wood pigeons shot off the fresh barley stubbles this week I delivered him a few frozen trays and helped him get her jessed up, coped and ready for the new season. At last it is here, the lazy days of summer suddenly become busy again, the breeding season is almost over as we wait for Ember to whelp in the next few days, moulting is nearly completed for most of the team and the new game season arrives.

So unexpectedly this evening, Nimo, my seven year old tiercel, sits on his block preening after a bath in the evening sun. Following what seemed a momentum I responded to the moment on my return home and also brought him out of the chamber, back into our life that is falconry. Tomorrow maybe Emma will join him.