Any strange little twitterings that I happen to hear I generally assume are coming from the deep, dark recesses of my damaged little mind. But on Saturday I realized that the tiny noises I was hearing weren't actually coming from me. Instead, they were coming from Steve and Lady's little love nest.
Is it ridiculous that the deep blue funk I was in faded almost completely when I heard the tiny chirpring sounds coming from inside the birdhouse as I weeded the angel garden?
I excitedly called up To My Beloved and threw my arms up in the air in a ridiculous display of joy as I told him that Steve and Lady were the proud parents of...of a bunch of tiny chirping sounds.
We have yet to see evidence of the hatchlings, but I can tell by the almost constant chorus of impossibly tiny little warbles that there is indeed a flock of wee ones inside the birdhouse.
I've been viciously protective ever since. Yesterday I chased away a starling who was dangerously close to poking his beak in where it didn't belong, and this afternoon I kept a close eye on two little sparrows who appeared to be searching for real estate. They flew off on their own after peeking into the full house, but I was *this* close to rushing out in a flurry of panicked lady - arms flailing, hands clapping.
I don't know if the birds actually need someone to run this kind of interference or not - they seem startlingly oblivious to the interlopers - but I'll keep on doing it just the same because I feel responsible for this little family of birds who have given me so much joy these past few months. I'm so thankful they're part of my little backyard world and it's the least I can do to repay them for taking up residence.
My only concern is that when they all fly away (and fly away they will some day) I'll collapse in a fit of panic a la Tony Soprano, first season. You know, the thing with the ducks?
I wonder if I can coerce the sparrows into coming back when Steve, Lady and the kids finally fly the coop.
Do they make miniature for rent signs?