Just above the exhaust vent outlet to our bathroom is a Swift nest, built and populated before I realized it was there. I try to keep them knocked down as they aren't good for the logs. This is on the south side of the house, so it is 3 stories up.
Today it was time for flying lessons for the little guy(s) or gal(s) and after what I can only imagine was some sort of bird conversation that went something like this:
Mom: OK, jump off the edge and flap your wings like we have been practicing.
Junior: Are you crazy, do you see how far down it is?
Mom: Come on, you can do it, I wouldn't let you do anything that would hurt you.
Junior: (under his breath) Oh, shit. OK Mom, I trust you.
Leap of faith, no control and slam, right into the glass French doors one story down leading out on the deck. Junior is now dazed, fortunately he did not break his neck and Mom and Dad, sitting on the deck rail are alternately fluttering down to encourage the little guy to try again. He is just panting and wondering why he couldn't just continue to live in the cozy nest and be fed by his parents. After about the 6th attempt to get him to move, Mom flutters down and raps him on his head with her beak, a kind of scolding?
Finally the little guy fluttered off with his parents, probably nursing a headache or concussion.
(Wish I could have gotten a picture of them trying to coax him to move again.)
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