Jarbidge to the Oregon Trail

Start this blog post out with a heavy sigh. A very heavy sigh.

The stupid song sparrow.

That’s the culprit, right underneath that big white arrow. He thought he was hiding from me. But he kept singing, so it wasn’t all that difficult to follow his bragging voice.

He is sitting in the camellia tree. And I know why he’s sitting in the tree.

Why is in the background where the big white arrow is pointing.

That is a nest.

That is the same ill-fated nest the song sparrows used last year.

Last year, when the fledglings were big enough to tip out of the nest, guess who found them first?

Me, actually, but not in time to stop Murphy from chasing down and picking one up in his mouth. He didn’t really kill it; it died of heart failure. In my hand.

I cried. A lot.

My husband said (stupid man), “It’s just a bird.”

That made me cry harder. I know it was just a bird, but it died. In my hand.

“The dog was just being a dog.”

I know that. A cat is just a cat, a predator just does what a predator does. But it died. In my hand.

So here we are, a full year later and the stupid song sparrows are trying it again. In the same nest, in the same yard, with the same dog on patrol.

This will not end pretty.

Why can’t they nest in the rhododendrons out front?

Oh yeah: the neighbor cats will get the fledglings. At least in our yard, there’s a fleeting chance the fledges will fall from the tree during the day when the dog is in his kennel and they will find their way to safety before he’s out in the evening. At least, I hope so.