The Canyon Wrens from the nest above the front door have fledged! They are so precious, with their ruffled wing feathers and their little tails tilting straight up. One little guy looks younger than the rest, with an oversized beak and tufts of baby feathers sticking up from his head like a miniature Mohawk. Mom and Dad are close by, carefully watching, as the kids make short hops from the log pile on the front walk to the eucalyptus stump, to the fence top and back. Sort of like small planes doing touch and goes on a runway. When not practicing aerial maneuvers, they hang out on the balcony, darting under the furniture when larger birds, like the Scrub Jay just now, fly by. They tire easily, and nap in the shade under the reclining chairs. The littlest guy keeps yelling “Mom! Mom! Feed me!” Or at least that what it sounds like. Soon, Mom and Dad will lead the chicks down into the canyon, and we won’t see them in our garden until early next spring, when we hope they will feel welcome to nest safely under our roof beams again. How we love hearing the trilling descent of their courting songs in March. Incredibly loud for such small birds, their calls bring the cats to the library window, drooling. Farewell till next spring, little guys. Be careful out there in the big wide canyon.
