Country diary: Hayling Island, Hampshire: A yawn, a skip and a warning in a young owl's life

Hayling Island, Hampshire: One of the owlets was perched on the low bough of an oak tree, basking with its wings outspread in a patch of sunlightThe rain had stopped. Bumblebees, honeybees and hoverflies thronged the dog roses in the hedgerow, while gatekeeper and meadow-brown butterflies fed on pink-tinged bramble blossom. Rabbit kits emerged from the undergrowth and lolloped along the path behind me, freezing like statues when I turned to face them, as though they were playing a game of Grandmother's footsteps. But they were not the only youngsters to take advantage of a break in the weather. The resident little owls have reared two chicks and one of the owlets was perched on the low bough of an oak tree, basking with its wings outspread in a patch of sunlight. The owlet was paler than its parents, with speckled buff and milk-chocolate plumagein place of dark chocolate and white. It lacked the adults' white crown spots and broad splashes of colour on the breast, but when it turned its head, I could see that it already sported the characteristic pale mantle at the nape of its neck.As the breeze ruffled its feathers, the owlet yawned and stretched. It hop-skipped along the branch, pausing to strop its hooked bill on the bark. Balancing on one leg, it scratched beneath its chin with pewter-coloured talons, then settled down to preen. Its eyelids closed as it ran its primaries through its bill, tugging and nibbling along the length of each feather before meticulously smoothing it back into place. A passing dog barked: the owlet's kohl-rimmed eyes snapped open and its pupils dilated. Its head glided from side to side as it craned its neck and tried to focus on the source of the sound.Watching from within a thicket of hawthorn, the adult male gave his offspring a warning yip. The owlet rocked gently back and forward on the branch as though it were poised on a high diving board readying itself to take the plunge. The male called again, a shrill chi, chi, chi-chi. The owlet shuffled behind a screen of leaves, perfectly camouflaged against the lichen-crusted bark until it took an oak leaf in its bill and peeked over the top with unblinking, lemon-yellow eyes.Rural affairsBirdsWalking holidaysClaire Staresguardian.co.uk © 2012 Guardian News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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