At a quarter till nine this morning I sit my coffee down on the back steps and proceed to fumble my house and truck keys for a second. I drop the truck keys and swear softly. I know this would be easier if they were all on one key ring - my wife often tells me so. However, what guy wants a foot of jagged metal jammed into his pants pocket? Donna's key ring is so bulky and long it looks like a medieval flail. I finally lock the deadbolt and drop the house keys in my jacket pocket where I'll later forget them. Welcome to middle age.
Its a bit chilly this morning but I like it crisp and the sun is shining bright in a pale blue sky. I walk towards my Ranger unlocking the door with the button on the key fob. I originally bought the truck to be my son's first vehicle. He was fully on board at the time and I thought it would be handy to have a truck. At first, he was thrilled to have this manly, all black, four wheel drive with studly wheel wells. Then I made the mistake of letting him drive my Mazda Protege. Now he's in Germany with the Mazda and I still have the manly wheel wells.
Besides giving my truck that rugged throw back look, the wheel wells on my Ranger are really good for another use. The neighborhood birds like to build nests in them. Every year I tear out several nests. This year I didn't. I wish I had.
The day before Easter, Donna came inside and said, “Guess what?” Now I can tell you that over the years the number of really nice pronouncements that Donna has delivered that started with the words “Guess what?” is really small. So, I felt my stomach tighten involuntarily in preparation to receive the blow it knew was coming. “What?” I replied. A bird has made another nest in the wheel well of the truck. “Oh,” I relax and say. “Okay, I'll tear it out after while.” She just looks at me for a few seconds and delivers the haymaker. “There are eggs in it.” She says this with little discernible emotion and I'm not sure how I'm supposed to respond. So I just plow ahead. “Oh Okay, I'll tear it out right now?” Observing her reaction I see this was not the correct response. My stomach is wise after all.
“You can't tear it out.” She says, but I can see she is conflicted. Donna drives the truck to the school where she works through the week. The school is only five miles away and the truck is too expensive for me to drive so it is basically Donna's vehicle. Not having her own vehicle will be inconvenient.
“Well look, if we leave those eggs in there a cat will probably get them and maybe the mother robin as well.” I try to appeal to her making her see that we will be doing the robin a favor. I further argue that we don't want this robin to learn to make its nest in moving vehicles. This is poor behavior for robins. After all, we've installed four perfectly good porch lights for them to use to make their nests on. Finally, my last attempt at a rational argument. When we drive the truck the eggs are going to fall out. Plus, when the truck isn't here the mother robin won't be able to sit on them and they won't hatch anyway and oh please let's not do this okay?
She just looks at me and finally she says, “Okay” and just for a second my stomach starts to relax again and I never see the uppercut coming. “Whatever happens, happens but don't tear out the nest.”
In times like these when I need solace I do what many other modern men do - I turn to Google. According to Google, birds don't know whether their eggs are viable or not. In fact, they don't necessarily know they are sitting on eggs. Apparently you can get birds to try to hatch just about anything egg-like. Nothing short of the eggs turning rotten and emitting a dead odor will deter this mother robin from trying to hatch them. “Oh well,” I thought. The eggs will certainly fall out when the truck is driven. That is, when I'm driving the truck as Donna will have no part in murdering baby robins!
According to Google it will take about two weeks for the robin to hatch these eggs. Thankfully, a few days later Donna relents and drives the truck to school where it sits all day. It was a cold day and she was aware of it. When she comes in that evening she says to me in a slightly quavery voice. “Okay, you can tear out the nest but just don't tell me when you do it. I don't want to know.”
Husbands get all the good jobs. There is giant spider in the bathroom, that stinky gray thing in the yard is a rotting possum carcass, the car is making a distressing noise that can no longer be masked by turning up the radio. There are baby robins in the wheel well of your truck. Will you murder them please? Yes dear, I'll take care of it.
So, it's Monday morning and I've got to go to Salem. As I open the truck door the mother Robin flies out of the wheel well. The stupid thing has been doing this for the last two weeks. Yeah, I forgot to tear out the nest. I'll do it tonight. Otherwise the dumb thing will sit on the nest until the eggs start stinking. Don't want that! I sit there for a second and take a sip of my coffee. For some reason I decide to get out and look at the eggs. I had actually forgotten the silly things. I'll just get out for a quick look and then I'll be on my way. The nest is well back in there and I have to stick my head partially in the wheel well. Whoa, the eggs are gone and something moved! I swear softly.
According to Google it will take about two weeks for the mother robin to raise her hatchlings. I slowly walk to the back door trying to think how we are going to get by without the truck for two weeks. I absently search for the house key, I've forgotten which pocket I've put them in. Oh yeah, the last one I check because that's where I keep them. I call Donna and say “Guess what?”
