We have baby birds. And of the nests, this--parked in the ivy covered wall behind one of the back porch sofas--is only one. There's another in the vast and twiggy and completely unscented (sigh) mock orange beside the porch steps and another -- oh foolish birds!-- above the unfish pond (a story of chaos, trauma and death not yet told).
Clearly this means Mr. Mosquito Rid has not yet arrived.
Last year, he and his toxic fumes chased every winged creature from the vicinity. Lucky for us, the neighbor that employs him was guzzling gelato in Italy, thereby giving the mamma and papa birds the opportunity to rush in with their nest building kits of cigarette papers, wadded Kleenex and shredded plastic bags.
I find myself wondering what country birds use for their pied a terres.