Polly Pullar shares her tales of raising orphaned tawny owls
Polly Pullar recounts how she became wise in the ways of owls . . .
IHAVE taken in injured and orphaned tawny owls for nearly 40 years; time flies when you are enjoying yourself. As readers will know, I love owls, or hoolets, as they are known in Scotland. I have always had a passion for the tawny, often nicknamed the Brown Wood owl.
This species is a survivor, and manages to adapt to loss of habitat and urbanisation better than most.
Living in such close proximity to man and all our hazards means there is far more chance for trouble.
Tawnies often get themselves into tight places, become stuck in chimneys and wood-burning stovepipes, or end up dazzled by bright lights, flying into places where they are unwelcome and have to be rescued.
I have been called out to many such situations.
Some years I receive numerous tawny owlets to rear. In 2017 we had a dozen owlets brought to us, whilst the owls in our old bothy chimney also raised a brood of four.
It must have coincided with a good vole-breeding year as friends in other wildlife rescue centres also reported high numbers.
Frequently owlets are picked up when they should be left alone. The first tawny owlet I hand-reared, named Sage (of course), became far too tame and imprinted on me; something I now manage to avoid as all owlets are successfully released.
Imprinting ruins a bird’s chance to survive in the wild.
Whilst living in an aviary for a few years, Sage paired up with a permanently disabled female owl I had and they raised one fat owlet four years in succession. This youngster was also returned to the wild.
Sage came from a lady called Anne Deacon and is one of the reasons why I began contributing to the “Friend” over 30 years ago.
At that time it was necessary to have a special licence to take in and look after injured raptors and Schedule 1 birds. I was an LRK – a Licenced Rehabilitation Keeper – and there were only a few of us in Tayside.
Anne Deacon was also an LRK and had a wildlife hospital near Dundee. She kept various injured birds and animals in aviaries in a wonderfully overgrown urban garden.
When she died I was contacted by the SSPCA and asked if I would take on all her Schedule 1 birds.
I went with SSPCA inspector Martin Love to collect buzzards, kestrels and a sparrowhawk. There was also a minute tawny owlet that had just been brought in, and it came home with me in a large Pampers nappy box. It had already been christened Sage.
Before we left Anne’s property, her daughter invited us for tea and proudly showed us a large scrapbook full of cuttings of stories her mother had written for the “Friend”, all relating to the wildlife she received.
Once home I began to think that perhaps I could write something similar. I was by now expecting my son Freddy, and was keen to do more writing. I felt that this would work well alongside being a mother and farming.
I wrote to the Editor and told him a little about my farm life, and in particular my naughty pet sheep, Bean, and her antics. I also mentioned hand-rearing Sage.
I didn’t expect to hear back for a long time, but had a call almost immediately, and we met soon after.
Within weeks I’d sent him sample pieces and both Bean and Sage were in print. Thus began Clare Skelton’s Country Diary – Clare because it is actually my first name.
Calling me Polly Clare would have given me the initials PC, and there was a cleaning product of the era
called Polyclens, which my grandfather insisted sounded far too similar to Polly Clare.
So my writing name became Clare, and then Skelton because it was my grandmother’s surname. Eventually I reverted to my own name.
Tawny owls and kestrels featured regularly in those early columns. There was one newly fledged owlet in particular that accidently sailed into the pea-canning factory in Montrose.
Probably attracted and dazed by the bright lights and open door, it unfortunately ended up going through almost the entire process: grading, shelling, washing and blanching, before whizzing around on a conveyer belt and narrowly missing ending up in a tin.
Pea Owl survived despite the battering and bruising, but was too weak to eat and I feared it had internal damage. For many days it continued to regurgitate dry little peas.
Eventually, having tried all kinds of owl delicacies, it was a freshly killed vole that proved enough to tempt the bird’s waning palate, and it slowly began to grow strong. Eventually Pea Owl was released one bright moonlit night.
These are the moments that make everything worthwhile, and make up for the numerous injured birds that won’t be so lucky.
After I wrote the piece on Pea Owl, I was inundated with letters from “Friend” readers.
Owls are always amongst the most popular birds. One thing is certain, though: the longer I work closely with them, the more confidently I can assure you that wise they are not! In fact, often they can be very stupid. The popular misconception of their wisdom is indeed simply a myth.
They have the most extraordinary acute hearing, though. Their feather tips are specially fringed so that they fly in total silence, ensuring that the sound of their own wingbeats does not impair their ability to hear even the most tiny small mammal rustles from the woodland floor.
So perhaps, yes, in this way owls are indeed clever.
Tawny owls are fascinating. They have plumage that provides perfect camouflage, and they may roost in a tree close to your house, yet be so well hidden you will have no idea they are there, unless the small birds – and in particular blackbirds – give them away with their noisy scolding.
Tawny owls come in two colours referred to as phases. Sage was a grey phase bird, whilst I have also had rufous phase birds that are the most glorious shades of rich russet like autumnal bracken on a hillside.
There are many variations in between. Some tawnies are browner or more buff and sepia in colour, and though males are smaller than females, it’s not a foolproof way to sex an owl.
Having several together at the same time certainly helps give you a vague idea, and there are technical ways to be sure through wing measurements, as well.
Sage died in 2005. He was just over eighteen years old; he had finally come of age and we had made him an eighteenth birthday cake that, of course, was consumed by us.
He had seemed fit and well, but one morning I simply found him lying dead below the perch.
He left a sad void and since then I have not had another permanent resident tawny owl. That is, until this year, when Louie arrived.
Read more Tales Of Hoolets in our next issue.