I dragged an empty barrel next to the trailer, where I set up a shelter with a few pavers and an arched concrete roof tile. Using a spatula and a towel, I covered and lifted the nest from the underside of the trailer to the makeshift casa, hoping the mama bird would somehow find her young.
And the trailer pulled away.
Throughout the afternoon I’d watch from a distance to see if the mama bird was ducking into the tiny cavern, like she’d done when the nest was lodged under the trailer. But my barrel-paver-roof-tile Taj Mahal sat lonely, save for the hidden stash of six tiny, squirming baby birds.
They were still there last night when I peeked into the shelter, beaks straining upward for food. I went to bed anticipating the solemn walk to the nest the next morning, where I’d find them limp in a lifeless pile, a testament to well-intentioned but naive human interference.
Our current state of affairs can have an impact on optimism, especially when the hype-machine takes hold.
This morning, I hesitantly looked into the nest to confirm my worst-case-scenario fear, even though I saw fresh droppings on the pavers.
One, two, three, then four, five, six little heads popped up, just as alive as when I’d left them the night before.
The mama bird has been feeding them all day today, as I’ve done horse chores and played with the dogs.
F you, hype-machine.