The Birds
My affection for barn swallows is diminishing in direct proportion to the number of active nests on our porches and in the garage. The number is currently seven. Sometimes I feel as though I’m living beneath a highway overpass. Birds coming and going and great piles of droppings staining everything within reach. There’s a great messiness to the entire proposition. And it doesn’t feel particularly healthy.
Of course, my cat population helps with the control issues a bit. Woe to the bird who falls to the ground, and they do. The cats are upon them. The swallows used to take dirt baths in the driveway. No more. It’s a hunting ground. They go out to the road at the end of the drive. Smart. But still I yearn for the single nest days when they were a pleasant curiosity and fun to watch. These days, I can no longer even keep up with the number of broods coming off our walls, and all I see are poop machines.
They only have a month left before they head back to South America, and I can put up with them until then. But I’m still going to try and find ways to redirect their activity. If I could keep them out of the garage, and dog run that would be a big win. I hung a banner to keep them from nesting over the walkway into the house. I suppose I can come up with something similar to discourage nesting and perching in unwanted spots. Also, I’d prefer to think of this as something other than a battle. I hate to be at war with nature. Because they do eat bugs and mosquitos. Let’s just say, it’s an accommodation. Nest here, but not there. Sit there, but not here. That sort of thing. We’ll see come spring, how it goes.
John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver's Tale