This column was first printed in The Chronicle in July 2009, and it began with this line: “The other day (all right, so it will be ‘the other week’ by the time you read this), I had the joy of witnessing one of those mysteries of animal life, which makes me question just how much their thinking process parallels our own?”
When my wife and I moved into our home, a birdhouse came with it. It was in sad shape, constructed of pieces of wood to make it look like a log cabin, covered with moss, etc. Being busy settling in, we didn’t get around to taking it down and replacing it with a new one for some time.
The following spring, when the violet green swallows came back to the area, a pair of them investigated, and then began building a nest inside. We left that birdhouse on its pole, cleaning and disinfecting it after each season, and every year after that it was occupied by a pair of swallows and each year the procedure was the same.
First, they’d gather nest building material and carry it into their house. Then, after a suitable length of time, one of them would begin sitting on their eggs while the other would gather their food.
They would take turns with that chore. Eventually, we’d hear the high-pitched peeping of several fledglings. The food gathering process became almost frantic as both of the parents spent time trying to satisfy the insatiable craving of the baby brood.
Eventually, one of those babies would become strong enough to reach the entrance of the birdhouse, fill the opening, and hog all the food brought by the parents. (One of the sad parts of cleaning the birdhouse each winter was finding three or four skeletons of the chicks who weren’t strong enough to occupy the opening, or battle for a bite.)
Even though we tried to keep a close watch on their activity, neither of us ever witnessed the moment when the fledglings actually left the nest and took to the sky. The year 2009 was almost different. The peeping of one tiny bird became stronger. Then, one day, it became almost frantic as neither of the parents made an appearance with a mouthful of food.
Two thoughts crossed my mind: one was that the one or both birds had been attacked and killed by hawks, and the other was the improbable notion that, by their absence, those five visitors were trying to coax the babies out of the birdhouse to search for his or her own food.
The next morning, I witnessed a scene that was hard to believe. Two birds, which I took to be the parents, flew to the opening of the birdhouse, flapping their wings and then swooping away. While I watched them, another pair arrived and began the same routine. Then a fifth bird joined them.
There were a few attempts to run other birds off, but that stopped and soon all five repeated the process — first flying to the fledglings, flapping their wings and swooping away. It looked as if they were all trying to show how it was done!
The young bird eventually pulled back away from the opening while the others flew away. I still heard the peeping, though it seemed weaker. Had the young bird become too fat to slip through the hole or were the other five just trying to steal his food? Later that day, I ran some errands, and when I returned, the peeping had stopped.
Being curious, I got a ladder and flashlight and found the nest empty, and no bird used that birdhouse again or even came near it after that.
Strange.
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Bill Moeller is a former entertainer, mayor, bookstore owner, city council member, paratrooper and pilot living in Centralia. He can be reached at bookmaven321@comcast.net.
