Tucked away in a quiet corner of the Manchester Guardian's "Country Diary" last week was some satisfying pastoral correspondence from a quiet corner of Hereford :
"The vicar's wife told me a little owl fell down her chimney, and that he was as black as a sweep; she picked him up and he fainted. She fetched brandy and gave him some in a spoon and he revived. She put him out of doors and his mother flew down and collected him. I once picked up a tawny owl after a gale; he was apparently dead, but he came round after some...
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