Upsetting the neighbours

For a few weeks now, we’ve been sharing our house with another family.

To be honest, I’m not sure they see it as ‘sharing’. I think to them, our presence is a thoroughly unwelcome intrusion. “What are they doing here, in our place?” I’m sure they say to each other. Certainly every time, we appear they chatter very loudly to each other about the matter and, though I understand not a word of what they’re saying, I know it isn’t complimentary.

This is all a bit awkward, because we can hardly avoid disturbing them. Every time we step out of our front door, in fact. This is because they’ve built their nest right over that door.

Ah, sorry. I see. You thought I was talking about a human family. No, no. It’s the house martins, the ones I’ve mentioned before.

Three fledglings living above our front door

They have three fledglings now. As it happens, we’re far from convinced that they’re all the offspring of the original pair of inhabitants, the ones acting as parents. This is because we twice found broken eggs lying on the ground. It seems it’s not unusual for house martins who don’t find a nest, or who are too lazy to build one, to make space in someone else’s and lay their eggs there instead.

That hasn’t stopped the parents bringing up all three of the young as their own. They’ve worked tirelessly – and, boy, it must have been tiring – to keep them fed. And now all three are flying and on the brink of adulthood. In other words, unbearable to their parents.

Danielle's great photo of a parent returning to the nest

Danielle saw all three on the telephone cable outside the house, loudly demanding food. And the parents were bringing them what they wanted. Honestly. Too bloody soft, in my opinion.

“Old enough to fly up here,” they should be saying, “you’re old enough to catch your own mosquitoes.”

Danielle can testify that there are more than enough mosquitoes around. She has the infuriatingly itchy bites to prove it.

But the adults keep feeding the three kids. Ah, well, young parents. With adolescent kids. Always a difficult combination.

Today there was even a bit of a crisis. We were sitting outside on the patio, having just had lunch. Danielle was sleepy and ready for a rest.

Suddenly there was some heavy fluttering behind us, inside the sitting room, followed by a couple of dull thuds.

Danielle was suddenly out of her torpor and rushing indoors. There were two house martins flying around the sitting room, one of them banging head first into the picture window between the room and the patio. Like a shot, Danielle collected the young bird – the one doing the head banging – and then pushed Misty, our cat, outside.

Misty, I should point out, is a venerable pensioner of a cat. Now fifteen, he thinks our move to Spain was the best we’ve made. He likes to spend some of his time in the front yard, lying on the couch out there. From time to time, he summons us to let him in so he can have a snack. And then he heads out into the back garden to lie on the warm grass in the sun. Until he decides he needs another snack.

A fine retirement, in fact.

But a little bird knocking itself out in his sitting room? And falling to the floor? That’s enough to return him to his best three-year old form. A snack with a difference, he sees.

But Danielle got him out of the way. Then headed for the front door, the head of the small bird poking out of her hand. She released him and off he flew, loudly proclaiming his relief. Immediately, the adult that had followed the prodigal into the house, flew straight out to take a look at the newly freed child.

So, all’s well as end’s well. At least, as far as we know it’s ended well. Let’s hope the whole family (related to each other or not) is doing well and they’ve recovered from the trauma.

Meanwhile, we’ve learned to keep the front door shut. And, of course, apologised for springing such a dirty trick on one of the family’s children. Talk about disturbing their peace…

One of our neighbours in flight