On the origin of faeces

My excitement was quite uncontainable yesterday, and many a small squeal of joy escaped my lips from within the woods and hills of Perthshire. We were out in search of pine marten scats (thats pooh to those of you who aren't already so inclined). And to my utter delight - we found some. Alot even. Sweeter than a fox scat, yet not as fragrant as an otter's, it takes quite a discerning nose to distinguish between carnivore species from their faeces.

Douglas Adams once noted that one of the characteristics that laymen find most odd about zoologists is their insatiable enthusiasm for animal droppings. This enthusiasm is understandable of course, given that droppings yield a great deal of information about the habits and diets of the animals concerned - but still, nothing can ever quite prepare you for the sheer glee that the actual object seems to inspire. I personally don't see how anyone could not be excited by the prospect of holding a real pine marten turd in their hands and then taking a good hearty sniff. Even more excitement then follows as you slowly tease the scat apart to see what clues it will give as to what it is made from. Will it be vole? Perhaps a small passerine bird? Who knows what exciting discoveries await! The anticipation builds as miniture premolars and bone fragments are discovered. Each scat presents a backwards murder mystery detective story in which the culprit, motive and method are already known, but we need to follow the evidence in order to uncover the identity of the victim. Hmm... Maybe I have been watching too much CSI. Nonetheless, I find it fascinating.

Not only did we have the good fortune to find lots of marten scats on our jolly in the woods, there was also an abundance of marten spoors (thats their tracks if you wanted to, but didn't already know). Thanks to a fresh deposit of snow, there were literally dozens of fresh marten tracks leaving yet more clues as to their behaviour. You could even tell where they had been ambling or lolloping along (martens often lollop) as their gait patterns were quite well preserved.

My guide for the day was Rob, a conservation ranger with Forest Enterprise, and an all round forest ecology and mammal expert. Not only did he inform on the wonders of pooh, but when I mentioned to him that I had never seen a crossbill before (a crossbill is a small bird of northern forests whom's bill ..is crossed. It is the Ronseal of birds). Rob stood to one side and started making some rather strange and quite unsettling noises. Not sure if he was having some sort of fit, or had gone loopy from the day's excitement, I stood back and stared at him. Possibly whilst raising one eyebrow quizzically at his bizarre antics. It all became perfectly clear moments later as I looked up into the trees to see that a small gathering of coal tits and bull finches had erm, gathered, in the trees above us. They were obviously as perplexed as I was, as I noted a few raised eyebrows among them too. And then, before my very eyes - a crossbill came into view! A bleedin' crossbill!! Can you believe it?! I couldn't. But it was most definately a crossbill, given away by its bill, which was indeed crossed. To say that I was impressed does not give the facial expression I then pulled justice. Show-off. Rob just chuckled to himself and began recounting to me a story from when he was out walking in the woods with his fair lady wife-to-be.

So there they were, courting away, and all of a sudden, a roe doe (a deer; a female deer; a female roe deer infact) leapt out in front of them. It was off again before Rob's fair lady wife-to-be had even had chance to stare on in bewilderment. Cursing herself that she had not been more observant, Rob's fair lady wife-to-be was upset with her missed opportunity to see a deer at such close quarters. Oh dear. Not wanting to see her so disappointed, Rob did what any other gallant male would do in that situation - he imitated a baby deer by immitting a few sharp, high pitched squeals. Now at this point, I would imagine that Rob's fair lady wife-to-be was starting to give serious consideration to whom she had gotten herself involved with.. But then - wouldn't you just know it - the deer came trotting back in to view! The bleedin' deer! Bless her (the deer that is). She must have been terribly worried and confused that she didn't seem to remember having an infant with her the last time she checked. She was obviously an obsessive compulsive roe deer though, and so had to come back and check. Although I can't condone the act of deer worrying, and find the teasing of OCD sufferers deplorable (if not a little amusing) I have to admit - that's one hell of a party trick! ..Well, it would be, so long as you go to the sorts of parties that allow deer. Although I am starting to think that Rob would.