Comin' home to roost

Last spring I had some potential squatters living on my patio.

You know what they say about real estate?
It's “Location, Location, Location” .

This couple had already done their research. They were looking for a place to build an abode for their pending family. They agreed on a lovely spot deep in the ficus bush on the courtyard. This would be a 'lovey- dovey' home, lots of branches, covered with green leaves for a little nest away from prying eyes. A site where they could watch the happenings of the world, noting who was coming and going, what the weather was today, and what insects were up and about to munch on. They could also keep a close tab on the enemy forces around . . . Twice a day at daybreak and sunset, the evil black birds, called crows, would fly over the area. The enemy would come in forces of tens of thousands, squawking, swooping down and dropping their bombs of bird poop. Every good neighborhood has a drawback, and this was theirs.

Mr. and Mrs. Dove had gone to a lot of trouble to find suitable building materials; selecting only the finest feathers, twigs, and pieces of fluff in the area. Diligently working from dusk to dawn, they finally accomplished this huge task. Mama Dove was preparing for the safe arrival of the little eggs that would become their offspring. Papa Dove was combing the area, bringing back tidbits of worms and other delicious morsels for Mama to feast upon.

Unbeknownst to me that this had all occurred, (after all, they didn’t sign a lease, or pay first, last and security on the rent of my bush,) I decided it was time to spruce up the property. With my hedgers in hand, I proceeded to trim the bushes starting from the southwest end of the property. Finishing up the job of trimming, I stepped back to admire my handiwork, and in doing so, discovered their home. Thankfully, no little eggs were in the nest. About this time, I also noticed the confusion of Mama and Papa Dove, flying between the safety of a tree nearby and their almost destroyed home. Realizing what I had done, I quickly retreated into the house, leaving them to figure out what they would do now.

Watching from the window all day, I saw them retrieve their building materials from the forsaken property on the inside of my patio. With these materials in beak, they would fly over the bushes to begin restructuring their home on the outside.

I never went over to inspect their new home, say good-bye, or check to see if the eggs were hatching. Some weeks later, when relaxing out on my patio, I could hear Mama and the babies chirping and watch Papa 'bringing home the bacon.' All was well.

Which brings me to this spring -- The bushes have been trimmed; I’m in the midst of planting some bedding plants, and lo and behold, look what I saw this morning on my patio.

Yes, they are here again. This time they are taking more time to check out the location, sitting for quite a while thinking about the decision.

Will they stay? And will they sign the lease this time?