Foxglove- January 28 2009

THE big double gates were open, which meant that guests were expected. I was therefore able to drive straight in, and I parked unobtrusively by the toolshed, my usual spot. Everywhere this morning there were stories to read, if you were minded to do so.

Here, the dog stopped, smelling the ground in one spot and then one more, turning her amber eyes to me and then back to the grass. Chunks of rabbit fleck, torn out under force rather than carelessly cast from a moulting coat, and two small patches of blood.

At first you might think that a predator had caught a rabbit, and there are times that, from this evidence, you would be right, but not this time. Territorial marking shows that here was a doe rabbit in season, that had skirmished either with another doe in a territorial display, or else had fought off the attentions of a buck.

Or maybe two buck rabbits had been fighting over the doe? In January, too. But here in the South, rabbits breed all year round, though in winter many of the young do not survive.

Past this little drama, I saw a pile of hen pheasant feathers, where the fox had caught her and taken her off beside the greenhouses to eat, and there the rest of her was lying.

Round the corner by the bonfire lay the mortal remains of her mate, probably left by the same fox, now too full to eat another pheasant but not to kill one. Taking a rabbit from one of my traps, which was the reason for my calling in here, I noticed a puff of magpie feathers on the formal lawn.

This was unexpected; magpies are normally far too clever to be caught by most predators. Not the fox's work, but that of a bird of prey, judging by what was left and how it had been left. The sparrowhawk regularly polishes off doves and blackbirds, but whether she had been responsible for the magpie, I could not tell.

The dog checked out the compost heap and the woodpile while I watched her. That sensitive nose missed nothing, and by observing the dog I could have a very fair idea of what was moving about. I would have expected something to be keeping warm in there, but not this time. Then a wisp of air-scent must have reached her, for she flowed across the ground to the fence, looked at me for permission and then floated over it.

Although I could not see what she could scent, she is a steady dog and I had no worries about sending her where she wanted to go. Into the ivy under the old muckheap she went, reappearing with a rabbit in her mouth. Back over the fence she came, and presented me with her catch, a poor myxomatosed creature that had been hiding in the ivy for warmth. I praised her and sent her on again, having despatched the rabbit, which I would leave discreetly for the fox.

Across the lawn by the shrubs, the frost had not yet melted, and so a set of human footprints stood clear. From last night or this morning? Had someone been prowling around? No, for I saw where they led, and the gardener had evidently been at work since before my arrival.

Smoke curled out of his shed as he enjoyed his first tea break and pipe, and I went over to see if he would like the rabbit. He would, for his wife would cook it with root vegetables and dumplings, and he could almost taste it now!