The bluebirds have worked very hard this year and have managed to raise a second batch of babies.
I have no idea how many left the nest box, but at least one survived and ended up on our porch on Saturday.
It sat there quite a while, with Mom chattering away from the branches above.
We were pleased to see it, but very much wished that the parents would lure it away from the house and take it out back toward the woods, where it might be a bit safer from the marauding cat.
I have not heard the parents’ plaintive calls since Saturday, so I hope that they succeeded.
Baby birds often do not survive. Lots of things are out to get them, and their clumsy abilities at flying often send them crashing into things, which can be fatal.
One would like to intervene: rush out and grab it and keep it safe from harm for a little while longer. But Nature has to take its course, and sometimes it isn’t pretty.
One could make a metaphor about baby birds leaving the nest and children, but I think perhaps I won’t go there….