A pair of sparrows nested in the eaves just above my front door earlier this spring. I decided to let them be and became quite enamored by their comings and goings. A week or so ago, I heard the soft chirping of chicks emanating from below the roof tiles and continued to watch the adult male and female fly back and forth for food and then take turns entering the nesting space to feed their young.
Two days ago, I opened the front door and noticed small piles of dried grass, twigs, and feathers strewn across my stairs. I strained my ears but could not hear anything from the roof above. Later that morning, I glimpsed the two adult sparrows perched before the opening to their nesting space. Neither went in. They just perched outside for about ten minutes before flying away. I have not seen them since.
All that work. All that preparation. All that coming and going, flying back and forth. All for nothing. That some calamity befell the nest is beyond doubt. Though I have no proof, I suspect a marten snuck up into my unfinished attic at night, spotted the nest, and helped itself to the chicks.
Earlier last month, my cat brought a fledging chickadee into the house. The little bird was still alive, and I wrestled it from my cat’s mouth. Unfortunately, it had sustained considerable injuries. One of its legs appeared broken, and its skin had torn open under its right wing. I took it outside into my workshed, treated its wounds, and left it in a small cage with food and water.
I dreaded going into the workshed the next morning. To my surprise, the fledging had survived the night. Feeling more optimistic about the little bird’s chances, I redressed its wounds and refreshed the food and water. However, when I returned to the shed later that day, I found the bird stiff and lifeless at the bottom of the cage.
My broody hen had been sitting on her eggs for over two weeks when I went abroad for four days last month. I left the care of my hens to a retired neighbor. I returned to find the nest abandoned. The broody hen had disappeared without a trace. My retired neighbor merely shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe something took her,” was all he had to say.
Thankfully, the village storks appear to be doing well, the cuckoos continue to call incessantly in the near distance, and the blackbirds still sing from their customary perches around my house. Still, for some birds in my immediate surroundings, spring has been anything but a time of renewal and new life.
Two days ago, I opened the front door and noticed small piles of dried grass, twigs, and feathers strewn across my stairs. I strained my ears but could not hear anything from the roof above. Later that morning, I glimpsed the two adult sparrows perched before the opening to their nesting space. Neither went in. They just perched outside for about ten minutes before flying away. I have not seen them since.
All that work. All that preparation. All that coming and going, flying back and forth. All for nothing. That some calamity befell the nest is beyond doubt. Though I have no proof, I suspect a marten snuck up into my unfinished attic at night, spotted the nest, and helped itself to the chicks.
Earlier last month, my cat brought a fledging chickadee into the house. The little bird was still alive, and I wrestled it from my cat’s mouth. Unfortunately, it had sustained considerable injuries. One of its legs appeared broken, and its skin had torn open under its right wing. I took it outside into my workshed, treated its wounds, and left it in a small cage with food and water.
I dreaded going into the workshed the next morning. To my surprise, the fledging had survived the night. Feeling more optimistic about the little bird’s chances, I redressed its wounds and refreshed the food and water. However, when I returned to the shed later that day, I found the bird stiff and lifeless at the bottom of the cage.
My broody hen had been sitting on her eggs for over two weeks when I went abroad for four days last month. I left the care of my hens to a retired neighbor. I returned to find the nest abandoned. The broody hen had disappeared without a trace. My retired neighbor merely shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe something took her,” was all he had to say.
Thankfully, the village storks appear to be doing well, the cuckoos continue to call incessantly in the near distance, and the blackbirds still sing from their customary perches around my house. Still, for some birds in my immediate surroundings, spring has been anything but a time of renewal and new life.
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