Magpies

We have baby magpies. Again.

Four of them, of various sizes. The larger ones are sleek, with adult tails; the smallest is still fluffy and round. But they all squawk. And they start early, early in the morning, and they don’t stop.

Every time Mom or Dad returns with food, the squawking peaks. In between, they mutter and grumble and harass the squirrels. And squawk.

We’re afraid to go into the garden, not because of the magpies (they’re rather sweet up close), but because of the humungous ravenous mosquitoes. Lots of rain early in the summer means lots of need for blood now. Our blood.

I wish the magpies could take care of the mosquitoes for us. Then we wouldn’t mind the squawking quite so much.

Maureen