Our little home in Chula Vista has apparently been shared from time immemorial with the swallows. They nest in sconce type light fixtures on our entry porch. They make a big mess. They are not easily discouraged. I cleaned all the nests and messes and hung out a No Trespassing sign using my best efforts at bird language. They failed to get the message. So after hollering at them and stamping our feet without success, I soaked them with the hose. That worked but only for a while. Our rental agents said that swallows couldn't abide the smell of diesel oil. So I bought some diesel oil and fuelled their nests. It is true - swallows don't like the smell of diesel oil in their bed. None of us do. So they wouldn't nest in the oil, but they sent their most capable spokesbird to plead their case. He (or she) flew in, sat on the edge of the porch chairs and stared at me. Also, we had been leaving the doors open because of very hot spring weather, and this bird flew in the house and out again to get my attention. I allowed as how it must be a reincarnated friend or relative, so I attempted a conversation with him-her-it. The damned thing talked back. But since my skill at bird language is even worse than my Spanish, the conversation remained one sided. After one full week of this game, I concluded that the bird was probably a reincarnation of one of my wife's stubborn Dutch relatives, and I gave up. I quit dieseling one of the lamps, and the swallows returned as they always do.
The swallows built their nest, laid several eggs and four of them hatched. I can hear someone saying, "Isn't that too precious?" I'm saying NO! The swallows remained as messy as they ever were, probably more so, and I refuse to see just-hatched chicks of any kind as precious. They were butt ugly. No feathers and all beaks. Every time we opened or shut the front door, four beaks shot in the air, thinking the commotion was mother coming with another load of regurgitated insects for them. Perhaps my negative view of this blessed bird event did them in. Because, for several days, the babies were partly covered by an adult whose spread wings never moved. After three days of inactivity, and at the strong urging from my wife, who was very concerned, but not concerned enough to do anything about the problem except urge me on, I peeked. As you suspected, a corpse covered the babies.
I wish I hadn't peeked, because now it seemed the body should be removed. Shortly after my peek, we were in the village and we happened upon a lady from the Animal Shelter, and asked her advice. The lady was clear in her belief that the dead parent should be removed. Oh boy; more fun coming up. I removed the body and one baby hung on to mother and refused to let go. And died. The three others bailed out of the nest and were flopping around on the patio. We tried to put them back in the nest, but could only catch the weakest one. The other two half ran, half fluttered away from me. The weakest one died in the nest the same day. Where the two remaining babies are, we don't know. But we do know the two parents came back tonight planning to reestablish residence here.
Back to square one. "Our little home in Chula Vista has apparently been shared from time immemorial with the swallows." Some things don't change.
