Shaky Science

On House Wrens. They are said to be called that because they find it delightful to live around people, even inside porches and eaves.

On "our" sitting porch, whereupon we have done darned little sitting this summer, there is a strictly ornamental bird house, purchased for me by my brother and sister-in-law. It came in a set of cute patriotic stuff and I hung it out there to be....well....cute.

Over the years, Black-capped Chickadees, Carolina Wrens, and a couple of other House Wrens have been confused by its ornamental-ness, and chose to employ it for the more practical purpose of raising broods.

This is a double-edged sword, particularly in the case of House Wrens. Your casa is my casa seems to be their philosophy. I like birds. It is somewhat flattering that they choose to be near us.

On the other hand.....

At first the wrens merely come up on the deck and tweet at your toes if you sit out there too long. They scurry around like mice, looking kinda cute themselves.

Later, when they begin brooding, they get a bit more insistent, darting up on the railings, swooping around, and singing.

Yeah, the male, who seems to be a lazy beggar, (except for the whole singing fourteen hours a day thing), tries to sing you off the porch. He sits on the back of the rocking chair warbling away like it's his job. He is loud. He points his beak right at the door even if we go inside. 

Now, though....now...there are nestlings in that tiny box. A few years ago they fledged six, so I suspect it's pretty crowded.

So now they are simply crazy.

The female shames anyone who dares enter her domicile by eating whatever bug or worm she is bringing in herself, looking at them sadly, and flying away muttering. 

The male sings at you or chatters like a roasting rattlesnake. Should you foolishly think that you might water the flowers, plant a little this or that, or, Heaven forfend, actually sit on the porch, they go nuts.

It is simply not possible to enjoy the porch at all. For weeks.

Even if you stay indoors, the babies peep all day, sounding exactly like the squeaky ball joints on the car when it bounces up the driveway. 

It's nuts. 

Can fledging day be far away? I sure hope not.