We retirees are legendary for our desire to accumulate our Nest Eggs... but today I discovered a few real Nest Eggs. Lookee:
Nice, huh? The eggs are small, about the size of a ten-cent piece... which means you’d need a metric assload of ’em to make a decent omelette. Not that I have any such plans. Perverse I may be, but I have to draw the line somewhere. I don’t eat anything that comes out of my dryer’s vent.
Yes, that’s right. Momma Bird must have been attracted to the exterior dryer vent outlet, which emits a stream of nice, warm, moist air at irregular intervals. And the flapper valve that supposedly protects the vent against avian intrusion does not, apparently, close all the way.
It’s a risky place to build a nest. A few years back, the last time that vent got plugged up it was on account of yet another nest... complete with dead, partially cooked bird. (Did I mention that the air coming out of the vent is warm?) She Who Must Be Obeyed She is not a bird-lover on the best of days, but finding that dead bird in the laundry-room wastebasket - where the dryer repairman had thoughtfully disposed of it - gave her the shit-willies for weeks.
There’s now a little cage over the dryer outlet. I’d like to see the little bastards get in there now. On second thought, who the hell wants an invasion of hummingbirds? (’Cause they’re the only ones who could, conceivably, get through that cage.)
The nest, meanwhile, is sitting atop one of the shrubs near the driveway until I can figure out what else to do with it. As I said, making an omelette is not an acceptable solution... no matter how teensy and cute it would be.