“Owl!”

We’ve been sitting in this bird hide for three hours. There’s been nothing. A distant Curlew. A noisy Blackbird rushing across the reeds. Nothing else.

We’ve been deciding whether to leave for the past half an hour when I look down the road and see an owl flying across the fields.”Owl!”, I shout, unnecessarily loudly.

I can see it’s landed on a post.

We rush out of the hide, get in the car and drive down the road. I’m driving and stopping so the Puffin Whisperer can get shots of it. It’s a Short-Eared Owl. I drive a little closer. She gets some more shots. I drive into a passing place and finally get my camera out. I can take some shots of it now through the passenger door window. It’s relaxed and magnificent.

I’ve taken three or four shots in a couple of seconds when a blue car coming the other way sees us with our lenses out and swerves to a stop abruptly in the passing place in front of us.

The Owl flies.

And then it’s gone. That’s the last we see of it.

We drive back to our friends for the night. There’s a road closure and it take ages. We’ve had three hours of waiting and I’ve had three seconds with the bird before someone else came and ruined it.

There is much dark muttering of bad words in both Italian and English.