A stoat in the kennel

Looking at one of the bird feeding stations from the end of the house, I could see two male siskins attacking the peanuts with their usual enthusiasm. At least until a female great-spotted woodpecker decided the feeder was hers and the siskins moved to another. Then a small movement of white at the bottom of the door of the disused dog kennel attracted my attention. There was a tiny hole and whatever it was it seemed to be peering out at something. I reached for binoculars just in time to see a white stoat dart out of the hole and push something I could not identify into the kennel.

The stoat seemed almost ethereal as it scamperedaround in its ermine winter coat, looking incongruously white with no snow for camouflage. Judging by its length it was a male, as they are larger than the females, and the characteristic black tip to the tail seemed longer than usual.

A hunting stoat is the source of myths and mysteries, and no more so than the “stoat dance”. I saw this once: a cock pheasant was standing in the open, calling and flapping its wings. When the stoat saw the bird, it started running round in small circles, slowly moving towards its prey. The pheasant paid little attention, though it briefly stopped displaying and looked at the stoat as if mesmerised. The stoat leapt on the bird and bit it on the back of the neck. Then it briefly licked the wound, hence the myth that stoats drink the blood of their victims.

Some people in the Highlands call stoats “whitrits” although this is actually a Shetland name. In Gaelic, by contrast, one of their names is radan armenlach or rat destroyer. Other names by which they are known in Scotland include “big weasel” and “stoat weasel”, indicating the possible confusion between the two mustelids.

Meanwhile, we will keep well away from the disused kennel in the hope that the stoat will use it as a den and we can watch, using our house as a hide.