We haven't been seeing much of our foxy friends in the gardens because of the really rotten weather. It's been one of the worst summers I remember, rain every day. That's unusual in Dublin which is often very dry. Dwellers in other parts of the country may be more resigned to it -(in places where it rains most days anyway) but I hate it. And foxes hate it too.
I don't know where they go in the wet, but it's certainly never out in the open. I guess they must go into the underground dens or deep under bushes or sheds.
One result of this has been that I've slightly lost touch with them, which explains why I was not absolutely sure, yesterday, if the fox I was watching was really Roisin.
I lookd out of my bedroom window into Martin's garden, and was just in time to see two foxes arriving, sitting down in mid-lawn, stretching: this was about 4.30 pm.
One of them, Ragtip, lay down; but the other was playful and pranced around him. This is cubbish behavior, but it looked like Roisin to me: smaller, redder, with round white tag. This one licked Ragtip on his ears, then turned her back and crouched very near him. You would have thought she was peeing but very close to him. She played around some more and nuzzled his nose, open-mouth greeting him as foxes do.
Ragtip was not much interested in all this interaction and moved to his favourite spot behind a tussock. She followed, trying to stir up a game. She did more grooming, actually licking inside his ears! Then she turned around again and this time I had the binocs on them: she peed abundantly on Ragtip's bronzy haunch. I clearly saw the stream of urine flowing down his fur.
Roisin had been marking grass and outlying bushes etc but I've never seen this before; foxes' urine usually means "this turf is mine". Ragtip did not react to it, by the way: he did not lick the spot or shake himself, but sleepily ignored her.
I am at a loss to understand the incident; why would Roisin twice urinate on the dominant dog-fox in this family group? I've never seen this either between parents and cubs or mated couples.
Several explanations are possible: one is, of course, that I misidentified either or even both. I haven't seen the foxes close up for a while. Maybe Halftail's tail has grown back and is now a narrow, sketchy tail with thin tip. (Don't think so!)
Maybe the smaller one was not Roisin but a large, well-grown male cub from this year's litter.
More possible, but out of the blue, if so.
Maybe they are who they appeared to be and are showing intimate fox behaviour; it's just new to me.
Certainly this is a time of year when younger foxes stretch their wings so to speak: Roisin may have been saying, in effect, "I've been a maiden aunt for one season, but I'll be wanting more next year".
Halftail, this year's working mother, was absent from yesterday's incident and hasn't been seen for a while: the sub-vixen may be now making her bid for the queenship.
I dunno, but it's all very intriguing.
Thursday 21 August 2008
Tuesday 5 August 2008
Hello!
Hello, all my faithful readers! I'm back on duty after a spell of annual leave. We had a very nice holiday in England, thank you, and saw plenty of interesting wildlife: though, oddly, no foxes!
Sad to see the annual death roll of young badgers by the roadside.
Best was seeing birds of prey - one I think was a Hobby - above the South Downs. Also bats in a barn. Also another big bird of prey that shrieked.
This puzzled us: why on earth would this fearsome hunter spoil the element of surprise and alert every little bird and mouse for miles around?
My husband took photographs but we have yet to identify it.
Back home, there is little to report on the vulpine scene. We've seen all three lying drunk with slumber, any warm day. Over the last week in the cooler weather, Halftail has been seen less and Roisin a lot more. Hmm, the annual reshuffle in fox family dynamics!
An example occurred last night: we were taking an evening stroll around the park and admiring a stunning sunset. We paused on seeing a young fox coming towards us, but it didn't hesitate: it stopped only fifteen feet away and looked at us enquiringly. If we'd been carrying anything tasty with a strong smell, I'm sure it would have begged from our hands! We hadn't any treats, so Cub pootled around, pawing for insects etc. and then wandered off into the woods.
That's one adolescent almost ready to leave home, but is being very tame really safe? Lots of us love the foxes, but some people hate them. Nature must take its course.
Sad to see the annual death roll of young badgers by the roadside.
Best was seeing birds of prey - one I think was a Hobby - above the South Downs. Also bats in a barn. Also another big bird of prey that shrieked.
This puzzled us: why on earth would this fearsome hunter spoil the element of surprise and alert every little bird and mouse for miles around?
My husband took photographs but we have yet to identify it.
Back home, there is little to report on the vulpine scene. We've seen all three lying drunk with slumber, any warm day. Over the last week in the cooler weather, Halftail has been seen less and Roisin a lot more. Hmm, the annual reshuffle in fox family dynamics!
An example occurred last night: we were taking an evening stroll around the park and admiring a stunning sunset. We paused on seeing a young fox coming towards us, but it didn't hesitate: it stopped only fifteen feet away and looked at us enquiringly. If we'd been carrying anything tasty with a strong smell, I'm sure it would have begged from our hands! We hadn't any treats, so Cub pootled around, pawing for insects etc. and then wandered off into the woods.
That's one adolescent almost ready to leave home, but is being very tame really safe? Lots of us love the foxes, but some people hate them. Nature must take its course.
Friday 27 June 2008
Amazing orchids
They are the most fascinating, the sexiest flowers in the world. Lovely, pouting prima donnas with very special requirements.Four species of orchids grow on a small patch of grassland right here in my parish. All four are in flower right now.
They are: Common spotted orchid,(dactylorhiza fuchsii)
Bee orchid, (ophrys apifera)
Pyramidal orchid (Anacamptis pyramidalis)
and Twayblade (Listera ovata)
This patch of land is part of the grounds surrounding the Catholic church and National School in Mount Merrion. It is carefully maintained by wild-life conscious citizens. Every year in late June an Orchid Walk is held to share with the general public the extraordinary beauty and diversity of limestone grassland: this one little plot surviving in the midst of a suburban wasteland of ryegrass and ornamentals and noxious weeds.
Species-diverse grassland is one of the most colourful and beautiful of all our ecosystems.
Self-heal, bird's-foot trefoil, oxeye daisy, knapweed, white and red clover, hawkweeds, fairy flax, - the list goes on. My heart lifts up when I spot a patch of it. Long may it last!
Wednesday 25 June 2008
Bird dogs
Nice summer afternoon, today about half past four. Halftail slumped on the neighbour's lawn, quite near the house, much closer than usual to me and my binocs. In front of her, a cocky magpie, stalking up and down, jerking its chin up, challenging. Halftail watches, alert but not on standby: it is as though she waits to see what this conceited creature will do next. I watched this show for a while, but I've seen it before and I was very tired and sleepy. I went off for a much-needed nap, just like any sensible fox would do.
An hour late, Halftail had fallen back to a favourite perch on top of a pile of grass-clippings, - a young haystack, really; must be warm and soft. Over on our side the garden, two magpies jerked and chattered, apparently showing each other insect places around a flower planter.
I've often watched magpies interacting with foxes. It's ten years ago now since we began to see foxes regularly in our own and neighbouring gardens, and the very first summer was when I saw magpies mobbing a fox. It was about seven o clock on a June morning and my attention had been caught by the fierce Gattling-gun chatter. Looking out, I saw the dog fox pursued by a crowd of magpies: more sat on branches of trees nearby, making loud noise; the ringleaders fluttered above him as he walked down towards the breeding earth. Every now and again, a braver young buck would flutter down and aim a peck at the tail end. Really, you'd think they had heard of the expression "a kick up the arse".
Mr Fox was a bit annoyed and rattled, so to speak, but not on the run: he did get out of the way pretty smartly, probably by going underground.
Later that summer, I managed to peep behind the shed and saw many magpie feathers, aming many others. We had seen cubs play with feathers - they love toys! And I had seen foxes, on two occasions, aim a swipe at a bird, one even jumping high with outstretched paws like a cat. They never had a hope, of course.
One of my sons saw a fox walking down our suburban street on the footpath, one evening in broad daylight: a dead magpie carried in it's jaws as it jumped the front gate and onto a party wall, and so into the Martins back garden, presumably to feed the cubs. I'm guessing that that's where the feathers come from: roadkill!
So the strutting show-off magpies might have saved their posturing. A fox won't really catch a healthy magpie, but it won't turn down a dead one. Halftail wasn't scared!
An hour late, Halftail had fallen back to a favourite perch on top of a pile of grass-clippings, - a young haystack, really; must be warm and soft. Over on our side the garden, two magpies jerked and chattered, apparently showing each other insect places around a flower planter.
I've often watched magpies interacting with foxes. It's ten years ago now since we began to see foxes regularly in our own and neighbouring gardens, and the very first summer was when I saw magpies mobbing a fox. It was about seven o clock on a June morning and my attention had been caught by the fierce Gattling-gun chatter. Looking out, I saw the dog fox pursued by a crowd of magpies: more sat on branches of trees nearby, making loud noise; the ringleaders fluttered above him as he walked down towards the breeding earth. Every now and again, a braver young buck would flutter down and aim a peck at the tail end. Really, you'd think they had heard of the expression "a kick up the arse".
Mr Fox was a bit annoyed and rattled, so to speak, but not on the run: he did get out of the way pretty smartly, probably by going underground.
Later that summer, I managed to peep behind the shed and saw many magpie feathers, aming many others. We had seen cubs play with feathers - they love toys! And I had seen foxes, on two occasions, aim a swipe at a bird, one even jumping high with outstretched paws like a cat. They never had a hope, of course.
One of my sons saw a fox walking down our suburban street on the footpath, one evening in broad daylight: a dead magpie carried in it's jaws as it jumped the front gate and onto a party wall, and so into the Martins back garden, presumably to feed the cubs. I'm guessing that that's where the feathers come from: roadkill!
So the strutting show-off magpies might have saved their posturing. A fox won't really catch a healthy magpie, but it won't turn down a dead one. Halftail wasn't scared!
Saturday 7 June 2008
CSI Offaly
Nothing much to say on the suburban fox scene...we see them all the time, snoozing peacefully in the fine weather. Every night one of them will check the feeding station in my garden, finding something about every second night. At times we hear noises of yelping and scrabbling - maybe those cubs do come out at night, if they exist...(pout!)
We had some different nature study last weekend, down in the country.
you may recall that I got some replacement frogspawn from a bucket that had been left outside the cottage. (That batch of spawn, too, is all gone)
Well, the bucket had been left in situ, and now become all green and slimy. So I went to empty it out as we were cutting grass and tidying up, etc. It smelt quite rank and rotten. I poured it into a basin and was a bit shocked when the body of a dead mouse poured over the rim. Poor little thing, I thought, fell in headfirst and couldn't climb out! I tossed the tiny body far away into the shrubbery and carried on. Oh, no! Another one! Just went to get a drink, I suppose, and two drownings! Musing on the tragedy, I continued and now what's this? Skeletal bones? The unmistakeably hand-like outline was quickly followed by the pale and swollen body of a dead frog.
No wonder the water smelt rotten. Bucket of Death, indeed!
Yet, what had caused this carnage? I didn't think that frogs could drown. Or that they couldn't jump out of a bucket in which they had spawned. Here at home, our frog seems to live underwater in the pond for much of the time, stirring it up in agitation if we disturb it too much. (Well, it floats at water level, fixing us with a beady eye.)
And the mice: Why would they climb up a steep slope and dive headfirst into a bucket, when there is a stream a few yards away and a canal a few yards more? with sloping banks and grass to grip, etc?
It all got cleaned up anyway, but I am sobered by the contemplation of that slaughterhouse of slime!
Better be careful next winter to leave nothing out except maybe a shallow pan with sloping sides.
We had some different nature study last weekend, down in the country.
you may recall that I got some replacement frogspawn from a bucket that had been left outside the cottage. (That batch of spawn, too, is all gone)
Well, the bucket had been left in situ, and now become all green and slimy. So I went to empty it out as we were cutting grass and tidying up, etc. It smelt quite rank and rotten. I poured it into a basin and was a bit shocked when the body of a dead mouse poured over the rim. Poor little thing, I thought, fell in headfirst and couldn't climb out! I tossed the tiny body far away into the shrubbery and carried on. Oh, no! Another one! Just went to get a drink, I suppose, and two drownings! Musing on the tragedy, I continued and now what's this? Skeletal bones? The unmistakeably hand-like outline was quickly followed by the pale and swollen body of a dead frog.
No wonder the water smelt rotten. Bucket of Death, indeed!
Yet, what had caused this carnage? I didn't think that frogs could drown. Or that they couldn't jump out of a bucket in which they had spawned. Here at home, our frog seems to live underwater in the pond for much of the time, stirring it up in agitation if we disturb it too much. (Well, it floats at water level, fixing us with a beady eye.)
And the mice: Why would they climb up a steep slope and dive headfirst into a bucket, when there is a stream a few yards away and a canal a few yards more? with sloping banks and grass to grip, etc?
It all got cleaned up anyway, but I am sobered by the contemplation of that slaughterhouse of slime!
Better be careful next winter to leave nothing out except maybe a shallow pan with sloping sides.
Saturday 24 May 2008
Where are they?
Just chatting with Mary Martin last week, we were exchanging remarks with the gardeners who are still working at the next house over, a large corner site. Someone mentioned the foxes, and one of the gardeners piped up: "And there are cubs as well! We saw them last week, didn't we, Jim?" And the other chap described how they had heard sounds like dogs whimpering one morning about half-eleven, and had propped a ladder against the wall to look over, and had seen maybe six cubs! And Mary herself chimed in, that she had seen cubs too, five or six of them.
So where are they? I've set my clock for 5.30 a.m. just to look for cubs, and seen none. We've all stared out upstairs windows and over walls, and seen none.
Even as I write, all three adult foxes are sprawled in blissful sleep on the lawn next door, soaking up the sunshine in a row like some Riviera beach. There's nothing to suggest that the family has "moved house", as foxes are sometimes wont to do, moving a litter to a new location.
Last night I did think I heard a little chattering at the bottom of the garden. I'd love to see them, though.
So where are they? I've set my clock for 5.30 a.m. just to look for cubs, and seen none. We've all stared out upstairs windows and over walls, and seen none.
Even as I write, all three adult foxes are sprawled in blissful sleep on the lawn next door, soaking up the sunshine in a row like some Riviera beach. There's nothing to suggest that the family has "moved house", as foxes are sometimes wont to do, moving a litter to a new location.
Last night I did think I heard a little chattering at the bottom of the garden. I'd love to see them, though.
Friday 16 May 2008
Hasty Update
Was away last weekend and had a busy week, so I haven't kept this up to date with the latest.
Anyway, all three adult foxes are now regularly seen. All three look well, and they have been seen several times sprawled out in a neat row like sucking piglets, soaking up the sun in Martin's Riviera! Hers is a very large, secluded, walled, overgrown, south-and-west-facing garden.
The one I call Roisin has grown a bit. The official informations claim that foxes reach adult height in their first year, but I really disagree on the basis of many years' observations. We have often seen a smallish fox in the springtime - often, as in this case, an ancillary female - and as the year goes on, this yearling fills out and acquires an adult strength and build, and a little height and breadth.
Roisin is now an exceedingly handsome vixen, amber coloured, pure white cheeks, and a lovely white snowball tail tag.
It has been beautiful hot weather: in London last weekend, it was burn-your-arm scalding. Our foxes look peaceful and healthy. I'm still feeding them, of course, and adding mange drops to the food.
Until next time!
Anyway, all three adult foxes are now regularly seen. All three look well, and they have been seen several times sprawled out in a neat row like sucking piglets, soaking up the sun in Martin's Riviera! Hers is a very large, secluded, walled, overgrown, south-and-west-facing garden.
The one I call Roisin has grown a bit. The official informations claim that foxes reach adult height in their first year, but I really disagree on the basis of many years' observations. We have often seen a smallish fox in the springtime - often, as in this case, an ancillary female - and as the year goes on, this yearling fills out and acquires an adult strength and build, and a little height and breadth.
Roisin is now an exceedingly handsome vixen, amber coloured, pure white cheeks, and a lovely white snowball tail tag.
It has been beautiful hot weather: in London last weekend, it was burn-your-arm scalding. Our foxes look peaceful and healthy. I'm still feeding them, of course, and adding mange drops to the food.
Until next time!
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