Upstairs neighbors

Perhaps you’ve lived with upstairs neighbors. My experience is that they are always The Elephant People, heavy-footed and awake at awkward times that I am not.

This spring, a nice young couple moved in above my bedroom. They were a bit flighty, clearly making efforts to avoid me. I can be scary, I admit, so I don’t blame them. I was pleased to have quiet and considerate neighbors.

As the spring wore on to summer, I heard a few scramblings and some muffled discussion, an occasional screech, the things of long summer days. Then, last week, there was a tussle. I don’t know the circumstances, but I heard a commotion, and seconds later, there was one unhappy mama bird screaming outside my bedroom window and three chicks on the ground, not quite ready for primetime.

They fussed and fluttered, finally making their way to fence posts next to calling mama. One female and the male climbed the posts, hopped about, fluttered down, tried again. The male finally walked across the pasture to a juniper and disappeared into the branches. It was getting dark by then, and the female was tentative, dropped to the ground, took a step, climbed back up on the post. I wanted her to snuggle with her brother and sister (whom I can only think already made it to the tree), but she spent the night on the wooden crossbar tucked against the upright. I saw her at first light and then not again.

That afternoon, I heard mama screaming, screaming, screaming. When I investigated, a Cooper’s hawk came out of the nearest tree, and the kestrel parents zoomed after it, diving and strafing. Lots of aerial maneuvering before the Cooper’s dropped into the draw and shook the following kestrels. The next day, the kestrels had a pair of ravens pinned in a juniper.

The chicks are out there, the parents are still hunting and feeding and protecting. I bet I feel more like the empty nester than they do.