…the more vigilant their guardians became! (Oh, and the more disgusting their nest and our porch floor got.)
Here a swoop…
…there a swoop…
…Everywhere a swoop, swoop!
I just couldn't get used to the dive bombing. Even when I expected the ambush, it would come within much closer range than I anticipated. One day I was talking to the neighbor and did my usual ducking, then asked her how close the bird had actually come. Her response was "within four feet". That may not sound close, but have somebody throw something near your head at that distance. Plus, are you one of those people who ducks when you are in your car and "nearly" hit a bird? Come on, admit that you do, despite there being any rational reason to do so. Keep in mind that we have that reflex even when protected by steel and glass.
I was talking to a friend through her car window, that was parked in our driveway. (She was smart enough to take cover.) A bird flew in between the modest space between us. A few days later, I was descended upon again and my husband reported that the top of my head was eighteen inches from the bird's path. They were closing in!
Enough already! Don't look at me like that, just move on with your lives!
Yes, the coast is clear, just fly! Believe!
Well now wait a second, there was that nagging metaphor again! Were they really ready to be on their own? Had they truly outgrown the nest? Hold on, in a related metaphorical story, look at how they were squawking at their mother, as if almost ungrateful for the protection, love and food...
…and the mess they were making, and the pouting?
Yes, it was surely time for them to move on.
As far as the waiting being the hardest part? Perhaps not in terms of suspense, but more just being done with it. Part four will be the finale. (The grandness has yet to be determined.)