_{...When we die, our bodies are given to the ferrets, and the ferrets eat our bodies; and so we are all connected in the great recycle of life.}

Wow, what an eventful day. So many deaths and noteable sightings.

The day started off with duties at college. Feeding the birds in the aviary - I love this job! A quick hunt for finch eggs to feed for the ferrets(they've overbred so the eggs have to be taken)never fails to disappoint; there were no eggs waiting for us this morning, however, there on the floor not far from my shoe was a baby finch. Still breathing - how it got there we don't know, but it's sibling wasn't so lucky and had drowned in the water dish. Still, one finch saved, back in the nest box s/he went! And true to form, to the ferrets the dead chick went. Nomsnoms.

Ah, lunch, out to the field my friends and I travelled to eat our picnic! There we sat, under a beech tree full of crows nests. A ruckuss above us and we sat to witness some crows fledging (I love corvidae of any form). Down the bird swooped before catching the wind and gliding over the treetops. Crash, THUD! From near center of the tree fell a grey ball of fluff. On closer inspection, a crow chick, not yet fully grown. Kicked out of the nest for being too weak, perhaps? Despite our concern the chick would never have been saved, and if worse came to worse we would have dispatched it (with the help of our head of animal care, although we have been shown how to dispatch chickens). Was tempted to offer it to the ferrets, actually, but we left the poor dear be by a tree, _{which also happened to be resident to a bunch of broody flies laying eggs in a rabbit shot by the gamekeepers}.

Aah, the things you are able to witness in the countryside, eh? Next, as we stared at the sky on the cloudless day, my friend pointed out a stationary bird. A kestral! I love krestrals and I've never actually seen one hover before! Illuminated by a brilliant gold it held it's place against the blue of the sky almost perfectly _{certainly eyeing up our picnic}. And then, down by the wetlands, a small bird and her three chicks tottled out. We had seen them from a distance earlier on but could not identify; pigeons? Some strange breed of duck? Kiwi, perhaps? Ah, she was a moorhen, and called to her chicks in that typical coo of the moorhen. How darling to end the day.

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