I have no idea what species of bird this is that has decided to build its condo of twig and vine and . . . shoestring? . . . All I see of them is a frantic blur of brown wing headed for outside whenever I enter the garage, forgetting for a moment that they are there, tending their two tiny eggs, pale blue/green like a child's Easter dress, with a few randomly placed brown freckles at one end.
They are very small. Maybe only twice the size of my thumbnail, if that. I'm always blown away by bird's eggs. So fragile and yet at the same time so smartly, perfectly engineered for their specific purpose. No more, no less.
(Sorry the photo is so lousy, but I didn't want to disturb the nest any further to refocus on another one.)
Now that I know the nest is there and the eggs have been laid, I'm all mother birding myself about what to do about the garage door. Do I leave it open? Do I continue to close it at night like I always have?
S.B. says I should just quit worrying. Maybe the birds built the nest in the garage because they know, in their birdy way, that the humans close it on occasion, thus ensuring that their eggs are safe from predators. Maybe they need the nightly reprieve from parenting to go out and whoop it up with other exhausted birdy parents? At any rate, we should just continue to do what we've always done and the birds will figure it out.
After all, they do tend to choose their nesting locations carefully.
Maybe I should move the dog's water trough, which sits directly underneath the nest, though. Because the last thing Ivan needs is another snack.