The young buzzards, at least I think there are two, call to their parents almost continuously now. Usually it is from the shelter of the remnants of the plantation woodland that fringes the edge of the fields, though occasionally they can be seen perching on the dry-stone walls.
Taking flight is fraught with danger and difficulty. The young ravens have been gathering in ones and twos, to strut their stuff and perform lazy acrobatics above the contently grazing sheep. And a young and inexperienced buzzard is just the thing for spot of mobbing and bullying.
This morning I counted twenty ravens and when they were not bothering each other, they were determined to give one of the young buzzards a good work out as they mobbed him as he struggled to find refuge in the trees.
The parents were around but did not interfere. Perhaps it is all part of the rite of passage of becoming an adult buzzard. Learning to twist and turn, to stall and fall and then soar up and above the harassing ravens helps improve their co-ordination and strength?
After five minutes or so the ravens seemed to get bored and fell back to chasing each other and tumbling through the chilly early morning air. A crow, there were a lot of them about, with a sudden rush of blood to the head, lunged at a passing raven. Unconcerned the raven looped the loop and turning the tables chased off the misguided and cheeky crow.
I had been observing this from one of the green lanes and became aware that both my dogs were getting restless. I dragged myself away from the action, gathered the dogs and set off back to the car. A fine steady drizzle was falling. It was time to go home.