What are these puffy balls in trees that I see in the UK?

To see them in the wild is one of life’s magical, majestic moments, although it is obviously tinged with regret for myriad reasons. I was lucky enough to accompany Jock across the Scottish moors, starting early of a morning, sometimes before the dawn broke. We’d walk across the moors tracking the Haggis; I clearly recall not seeing any buildings, telegraph poles, no sign or encroachment of humanity into the wild, just moorland for miles and miles out to the green and blue horizon - and at various moments in the walking waking day he’d point out those Haggis that unfortunately needed culling. Whilst it was on him to sort it for the Estate, of course, or me as his rifle that day, he never once showed anything other than utter respect for the odd world we all share. Whilst it was a sobering experience, even to an early teen like me, it’s a lesson I’ve carried with me for many years. Some years later, I became (vocally) upset with some twats on a Spam shoot, who showed no respect for the sadly wounded Spam, even though I had said I would be a caddy that day and not a shooter. Fortunately, Jock never saw what the twats did and didn’t do that day, as I’d suspect he wouldn’t have treated the braying twats as kindly as I did, albeit probably that was all only due to my young age and inexperience. Even now, all these years later, I hated that I had to dispatch the Spam myself, and sometimes think Jock would most lively have been less worried about telling the twats how it was going to be… Other memories of the elusive Haggis and Jock? Best I don’t share the story of Jock and his Renault 4 and I shooting from an open window across the lock at 6am, at least, not for now. Funny old world; I sometimes think of the elusive Haggis, of long passed Jock, and the need for mutual respect in our shared world. Funny old world x