The Birds

For two summers now, the parking garage under my complex has been plagued by what I believe to be a malicious, conspiring, and contriving family of swallows.





In some parts of the world, the return of the swallows is a joyous occasion, anticipated and celebrated yearly by news media and Catholic priests alike.





The return of the swallows here in Utah, however, is not so joyous. There are no parades, and the news media doesn't even seem to notice. All we have to look forward to are early morning scares by eager swallows out for a bite to eat, and, of course, their leftovers.





I'm not exactly sure why they don't go find a cave somewhere up in the mountains. Our garage is not a hospitable place. There are people coming and going at all hours, and the lights down there never turn off. On top of that, I scare the birds (to make up for all the times they've buzzed my head) every time I pass their perch.





I thought that after all the times I scared them last summer, they wouldn't return this year. I was not so lucky. They returned, and they are staying longer than expected. Mom and dad already flew the coup, but their ill-intentioned offspring have claimed the nest as their own, and may even be settling in for winter.

For now, I'll be redoubling my efforts to make sure these plague-covered, winged rats don't stick around much longer. And don't think I'm not going to knock that nest down as soon as they're gone.