they did it again...

... those feathered friends who built a nest hanging on the side of the house once before. They are back. I was hoping they would not return, to that same location on the back side of our home. Thinking the more recent odd-ball nest still sitting right on top of the spherical glass light fixture (by the front door) was their new home. Possibly not even the same type of bird, but no reason not to be optimistic that the ones who made their home out of scavenged moss and bird spit would not come again for a repeat performance.

I was out in the yard putting out some mulch and noticed that the family who thought attaching a nest to a wall was a smart move, returning to raise another family. It sits above a window, where the there is a very narrow ledge of about one-fourth inch. Hold your fingers that far apart and you will see how tenuous the perch is where this contraption sits. Amazing that they could pull up all soft, cushion-y green moss growing in shady spots around the yard, and glue it in place with saliva. Create a construction that will hold together well enough to hatch a clutch of eggs and raise the little ones to maturity.

It was too late in the day for a photo, getting dark when I looked up and noticed they have returned and rebuilt the nest. It has been a couple of years since they were last in residence. After they departed and I was sure it was unoccupied, I climbed the ladder and pulled the old  mossy cup-shaped nest down. Where it was attached at the exact same spot: which is why I am so confident it is the same pair, or one with a new mate.  Up under the wide overhang of the roof, well protected from weather, and high enough to be safe from that irritating neighborhood cat that roams around licking it's chops.

I do not know how long it has been there, but the moss is still green, so I suspect recently harvested and assembled. I will go up the ladder for photos, and peek in to see if there are any eggs. I am deliberately practicing not having a heart attack when I get scrunched up,wobbling on top of the precarious ladder, out there under the eaves when a mother bird comes barreling out to startle the s#@t out of me.

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