The Saddest Thing

Quincy came by this weekend to fix the soffits. My lovely bride instructed me to hire someone to do this, since we have a very dangerous roof and she wants me to be around for the birth of our baby. I think it was her seeing me shopping for safety harnesses that did it.

Quincy is one of those straight shooting repairmen who can do anything, fast. Nothing gets in his way for long. So it is not much of a surprise that he missed the nest.

There was a nest of cute fuzzy chicks somewhere up in the soffits and they were constantly being fed worms by their mother. There was chirping. There was the constant food trips by mom. And there was further evidence in the form of bird poo everywhere around the open area of the soffits.

But these things do not concern Quincy. Indeed, he didn't even notice, because he just closed the whole thing off, chicks inside, mother outside.

Later that evening we were subjected to the frantic calls of the chicks and the mournful responses of the mother. There she sat, worm in mouth, desperately trying to find a way in. We felt really bad, but the soffits were all pop-riveted in place.

Eventually the birds stopped chirping, and the mother flew away. I think she came back a few times yesterday, but both her worm and her hope were looking dried up.

I suppose I should have climbed up there and torn the soffits open. But it would have caused quite a bit of damage and I really wasn't so keen on tearing up the soffits I had let go for a couple years anyhow. And Quincy kind of scared me.

So call me bird-killer, or avian torturer. I wasn't happy with the situation either.

It was the saddest thing.