Let's be Best Friends... Maybe...But Probably Not

i LOVE birds.

I saw my first red something or the other woodpecker a few weeks ago and my yard is filled with those blue ones, and then there are the tiny cute ones and I'm not too keen on those large fluffy grey ones, but they have their place.


You can see, I'm practically an expert.

But I do know my Robins. And I love them.
But then there's MY Robin. She and I have an understanding. She rules my garden and I understand that I will stay away from her while she eats whatever she wants while she raises her babies in my Wisteria.

The Wisteria that needs constant pruning, that I can't prune because she'll cry murder from a tree and make me feel this overwhelming guilt that I've invaded HER territory.

I'd like her to contribute towards the mortgage, but I can never get her to sit still long enough.

So this morning, she decided to tear down my squash trellis. Really, why did I need a squash trellis when it would look so much better all balled up in pieces, tucked into the nether-reaches of an illusive wisteria branch?

So the pesky, lovable creature ignored my flailing and fluttering at the kitchen window, and my protests, and tried to pull it down one thread at a time.

And was she furious that I tied it so tightly....

So I decided to give her a peace offering.

 A wonderful and smart Lady told me to throw scraps of yarn out into my yard, and so I did...

And Just a few hours later, there in my Wisteria, without fail, just like last year, was The Nest. The one that will keep me from training my Wisteria across the arbor. The one that will leave Poor Hubby confused because I said I would keep it trimmed back, and out of the eaves, and from tearing down our house, one powerful branch at a time. The Nest that my head will pop up next to for the next few months until I see the little naked babies all curled up with their pathetic beaks trembling in the air for squishy worm guts... and probably these

My grapes. The ones I will never get to eat because I'm terrified of an animal smaller than my hand but with a shrill louder than when my mother sang "The Hills are Alive" at 5am to get us up for school when we were kids...

Sigh.

I can't believe I love birds.