Burnished Copper

Burnished copper glinting in brilliant mid morning autumn sunshine, a cock pheasant strutting deliberately in slow motion on his way back from my feeding point under a lone hawthorne bush. Between the stems of the broken hedge line between winter wheat and lush green rape he was following his path until Emma appeared in the sky. The cock disappeared, had he clamped, had he retraced his steps? My female peregrine climbed hard, 300feet on her first pass into a huge out swing downwind, climbing back into the wind from nearly a mile away she was over 1000 feet on her second pass but still not satisfied she took another circle and was half as high again when she held station, beating with half closed wings into the southerly breeze above the working dogs.

The younger cocker ran up the hedge but nothing appeared, he disappeared into a bramble patch, the obvious retreat for our cock but still nothing appeared so he took another beat and repeated the exercise. Meanwhile his older brother, more experienced and used to this part of our ground where he had flushed several birds during his eleven years, he waited until he found fresh scent, then slowly, working deliberately followed across the short grass of the mown headland and on out into the rape. Well grown this year the foliage was almost up to his shoulder, overnight dew sparkling as he disturbed the leaves in the sunlight until with a spraying clatter and cackling call up sprang the cock flushed outwards across the huge field of rape. It was fortunate for us that he was not sure of his direction and drawn by safety he turned a banking arc to the left taking him back over the emerald green freshly germinated winter wheat, powder blue feathers on his back spectacular as he banked in his turn, rocketing upwards to about 100 feet, making his best pace for the small copse half a mile away. 

Over the years it has become my habit to count the seconds of a stoop. A descending teardrop falling, falling, falling through crystal air Emma took fully twelve seconds before she came into attack, enormous roaring speed, outpacing the fleeing cock, she stooped behind and below before she threw up from underneath him, no doubt in his blind spot, talons extending at the last moment to bind to him with ease, the head in her left and breast in her right foot. He was 1400 grams of solid muscle and slashing spurs but her rowing backwards now protected her from the collision with the earth as the cock became her cushion but then quite some adversary on the ground. Emma's grandmother once took a similar bird in almost the same location, it had broken both wings and both legs in the impact but once on the ground it sill managed to give the falcon a serious pasting! Not so today, Emma held firmly to the struggling bird for a few chaotic moments and with an expert bite behind the skull it was soon all up for the cock.

Open mouthed, panting from the exertion, she stood proudly over her prize. The younger cocker sat by her side admiring their conquest, ready for any sudden escape. No need to run, all well in control, circling crows soon left as they saw me approach. A few minutes to regain breath and composure, then plucking began.

East Anglia, end of October, the last of this years pheasant poults are now fully feathered and uniquely this year it still seems like summer!

Transitions!

Weaning with our pups has always been a simple process at a time when the mother is pleased to have us take over responsibility for her youngsters. It is a leisurely process over about ten days so that when the moment arrives it is hardly noticed. With our hawks it is a similar process at fledging when the falcon has worked herself extremely hard for a few weeks and is only too pleased to be taken out of the chamber and leave finishing of the eyasses to us. I have developed a system of adjacent chambers so that the door can be opened for her to choose to sit out of sight of her youngsters which she readily does for relief from their constant screaming for food. When the day arrives it's a very simple process to just close the door and her period of parental duties is done.

However weaning our horses has always been a more stressful time for all concerned, not least for us when kept awake at night by the sound of confused horses shouting in the darkness. The process is somewhat easier with fillies than a single colt. Last time, a couple of years ago our filly was just left in a stall next to mother and nobody seemed to notice the milkbar had closed but this year we have a single colt and his change of lifestyle is set to be very different.

Sound carries in the stillness of night, mother and foal can still faintly hear each other at opposite ends of the yard in separate buildings. Barking muntjack, bulling cows echoing for miles on still night air, owls from screachers to hooters, moorhens and roosting cock pheasants, all join in the cacophony when usually peace and tranquility prevail under the starlight.

Not having bred horses for a few years and not having weaned a colt for 24 years one simply forgets what it was like but today our concern is much increased from our harsher youthful exuberance of many years ago. In those far off days of our youth we just bolted stable doors and left them to get on with it? I am sure we didn't do quite that but I don't remember this trauma we have now. Today our treasured colt has his hoof prints on the white walls around the eaves! He seems to have spent as much time on his back legs up against the walls as he has on the floor. Unseasonably warm weather has helped keep him dripping with sweat, his fine skin like dark wet silk, spectacular to look at but harsh on the nerves.

Obviously it was all extremely exhausting for him with unrelenting tension, his adrenaline kept him going and going, wet and dripping with sweat but by mid afternoon of the following day it seemed he was a little more thoughtful, not much but I sensed we could make a step forward.

Before we made our new stabling in the barn, where our colt had spent the first five months of his life with his mother, we kept our horses in our yard of loose-boxes adjacent to the house - an intimate arrangement that worked well for us. One of these stables was brought back into use for his weaning. It was after four days our colt Asti stepped confidently out of his new stable into the strange surroundings of the yard, house and garden. With some care he relied on my confidence and walked among the fallen conkers under the horse chestnut tree to the paddock where he was familiar with his surroundings. He stopped and looked back to the yard from which he had come, his mother called from her stable in the barn reigniting the fireworks and we had our first experience of lunging on the grass. For this I had been prepared with him already on the long lunge rein and with appropriate lunge whip just for guidance.

Only twenty laps or so and he refocused again, back onto me so we had a cuddle and set off back to the yard. He was still feeling the heat of this very warm day and was quite wet so a shower from the hose provided welcome cooling, cleaning and refreshment. The bath was not new to him as during the heat of summer we had taken care to ensure he got used to it as one of his additional experiences at his mothers side. The sweat scraper got most of the water out of his coat and without being in any way perfectionist about the process Jenny and I kept things changing and  moving along quite rapidly before is thoughts might get the better of him. As soon as he looked respectable again he willingly walked back into his new home, sharing the busy comings and goings of life in the yard.

Some brief neighing soon died down and when I looked about thirty minutes later he was flat out in the straw, fast asleep with his legs twitching as he dozed. The first sleep he had for several days. This evening the progress was remarkable, his attitude most welcoming, evening meal all finished up and obviously delighted with my company in his box, reveling in having his body stroked, shoulder scratched, ear pulled and head rubbed.

His mother also turned a corner, stopped pacing the box and was this evening chewing hay as fast as she can get through it. Of course hard feed was restricted now that milk is not needed, water had been restricted briefly but as the worst of milk production had eased, her bag contracting, she was composed enough to drink a full bucket.

So after a few days we now start to look forward to organising ourselves to the new routines and way of life that an extra occupied stable brings. Our stallions have always lived as part of the family adjacent to the house and for Asti, an unusually friendly foal from birth, the prospect is proving very welcome. After ten days or so he is happy to have a paddock to himself, to peacefully graze for three or four hours, visit the gate if we appear and now he responds to a whistle. With an Indian summer we are all enjoying unexpected sunny autumnal weather, Asti has learned to pick his own blackberries, dried leaves crackle under foot, fallen apples brighten up his evening meal. Pleasure of creating a new character in the family our daily joy. At last the trauma of weaning is over, another transition complete.