The Cardinal family built a nest in the Loropetalum beneath our kitchen window. We watched it go up, three tiny eggs appear, three tiny babies hatch. We watched as the pair worked all day every day until yesterday to feed the hungry mouths, and we watched the babies grow with astonishing speed. From featherless pinkies to primary wing feathers on small wings in a week. They were our family, too. Our babies.
This morning I found the nest in the driveway, babies crushed and dead. Nothing to do but mourn a little, then bury the remains of nest and babies in the flowers. I suspect our lovely dog Millie did this, but will never know. Another animal would have eaten the young. Dogs don’t do things out of meanness. They react with reflex. I suppose she spotted one of the parents go to the nest, went to have a look, and did what dogs do. So no recriminations there. ("Damn your eyes you baby bird killer" went unsaid.)
The lesson once again is “Drink the Good Wine First”, because you never know what is waiting around the corner. A mindless accident or a planned attack. It happens suddenly and is over. No turning back.
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