A Little Egg Story.

Well, last week Wyatt and Eva were out in the backyard playing. They suddenly came rushing in looking suspicious, hands behind backs kind of suspicious. I followed them to Wyatt's bedroom where the had already locked the door. I knocked and required them to open the door asap, which they did. The fact that they opened the door quickly may surprise you but it's the norm around here and I like it. When I demand the door open, it opens. It's a little gift they give me I suppose to make up for the other 99 times that I have to say something more than once to make it happen. Let's get back to the story.

Wyatt had backed himself into a corner of his room and when I asked him what he had in his hands he refused me. About the fourth time he gave up the booty. Two tiny white eggs. I started to panic and tremble and then I gently asked him to give them to me. I just couldn't be responsible for that, I wanted those eggs to have a chance at bird life, my mind was racing. The eggs were very warm. That was my clue, being the super sleuth that I am, to ask the obvious next question. He said he didn't know, he repeated that so many times I was beginning to loose my cool and tearfully beg him to tell me.

After giving Wyatt the nature talk in language that I thought he might understand and have compassion for, we arrived at the nest. No mama bird, just nest. On the side of our shed hangs an extension ladder, inside the ladder, second rung from the front, you'll find a nest barely four feet off the ground. What the ... was the mama thinking? Doesn't she know I have four curious little pirates that scour every inch of our yard for treasures? And where was she?

It only took me a second to find her perched nervously on my neighbors housetop watching us with anxious jerky bird motions.

I gently laid the tiny eggs that were no bigger than eyeballs back in their nest. I set up my camera to record in time lapse mode [cause I'm crazy that way] on the fence near the nest at great risk of peril [to my camera] because it was, after all, a terribly windy day.

Long egg story short, it took her a while, maybe 45 minutes, but she came back. Ahhhh, what a relief it was. I was worried that we had possibly caused mother bird desertion or something worse, but happily it seems that she didn't hold it against her egg babies that they had been absconded to the corner a six year old boy bedroom, however briefly, and then rescued.

Then Wyatt insisted on making signs to warn future intruders to stay away. He tacked one on the back of the shed and I noticed that the wind was blowing it hard and it was making lots of paper slapping against shed noises, so I convinced him to hold on to the other one until the wind stopped it's mighty blowing. Yes, of course I photographed the sign, it's artwork after all. You expect that from me, no?

Days later, still she sits. She is fine, eggs seem to be OK. I just hope she can live there peacefully and not draw any attention to herself until the egg babies hatch out.
Fingers crossed.