NOTE: I recently received an e-mail from someone who pointed out that I had not kept up with posting my monthly columns on my blog. They were correct and so I hope to remedy this today. My apologies for my tardiness. -J
If you are reading this message, please know that I am currently a prisoner in my own home. My captors are a diminutive husband and wife team who flew into my life out of nowhere, have usurped my authority and have taken over my property in less time than it took Castro to conquer Cuba.
Unfazed by the fact that I was here first, the pair set up their command center on my front porch and seemingly overnight has rearranged my entire lifestyle. Thanks to their pluck and moxie, I am no longer allowed to use the front door, all trips that pass through the entryway have become covert operations and even the daily mail collection is conducted under their watchful eye to insure I don’t do something rebellious to ruffle their feathers and arouse their wrath.
“You do understand I could just get rid of that nest and our lives could go back to normal, right?” My husband offered as we listened to our uninvited jailers chirp merrily from their post, conveniently wedged between our front door and Easter wreath.
“Are you kidding me? There are three eggs in that nest the last time I checked. Are you really going to tell an expectant mother there is no room in the inn?” I replied. “As a friend I must tell you, historically that speech has never played well.”
“Well then, what are we going to do about them?” He wanted to know.
I don’t know about him, but I gave them some birdseed, a bowl of water and loudly assured them both that I have no plans to disrupt the Missus’ labor, delivery and recovery period. My husband pointed out that our captors are not people but birds, do not speak English and can only see us as a threat despite my grandiose declaration to the contrary.
“Oh for heaven’s sake, stop hollering at them. The neighbors are going to think you are a nutcase,” he added.
“Like they don’t already?” I countered. In my defense I had to yell in order to be heard over the birds’ rather screechy protests that I was standing too close to their humble abode.
Look, I am not particularly fond of being incarcerated like this, but since I am stuck, I might as well give it the old “glass half full” treatment, unlike one of my fellow inmates who constantly bemoans the fact that we are in for a long haul with this pair as they feed and hatch their young, launch them from the nest and teach them to fly.
“Look on the bright side, will you?” I commented. “At least we are only looking at a few weeks time. It’s not like they are waiting on an acceptance letter from Harvard.”
“No, but I doubt you’ll be feeling as chipper about this if one of them gets into the house and leaves their mark all over your Martha Stewart sofa,” he said.
“Now that would be fowl,” I agreed.
(NOTE: Unfortunately this story had an unhappy ending. A house wren decided to take over the nest and destroy 2 of the five eggs that ultimately were laid. This caused the original birds to abandon their other three eggs and I ultimately buried the whole contraption. I also cried a little. Don’t judge me.)