The Mommy Wren (or possibly Daddy Wren, I don’t know from birds, maybe they’re like penguins or cassowaries or something) is brooding the eggs. If I’m out on the deck and glance into the nest from the right angle, I can see the little striped head. The butt is still probably jaunty, but the front end is definitely grumpy, and if I disturb her by thumping around looking for the trowel, she leaps shrieking out of the nest, and proceeds to scold me, non-stop, until I go inside, which, if I’m in the middle of repotting something, can be twenty minutes or more.
Were I a predator, this would be a pretty ineffective strategy–I’d know I was definitely onto SOMETHING because the wren is all but waving a sign that says “Get The Hell Away From My Nest” and if I hadn’t known that there was a nest within a few feet, I’d certainly start to wonder. But being a benevolent sort of omnivore, I just refill the feeder and let it go.
In other news, I’m now an Elite over at GFXartist. I get nominated every so often, but I’d never paid all that much attention to the process–I’m not terribly active in that gallery, other than occasionally wandering by the forums, and I don’t upload all that often because it’s a much lengthier process than any of the other galleries I’m on. This month, however, there was evidentally a bit of a dust-up–I was the runner-up on the nominations, and then the winner turned out to be a plagerist and was kicked out, and then there was a forum debate (which I completely missed until Maggock pointed it out to me) about whether as the runner-up, I should get elitified. The staff said no, then decided that given it was the most recent nomination, on second thought, sure, if I didn’t mind. I figured, sure, what the heck.
It’s always a little weird to discover that you’re a topic of heated discussion and didn’t know it, though. But I suppose that’s t’internet for ya. The whole thing isn’t really bad or good, just sort of a weird internet drama that I am pretty well detached from. Such is life.
And now, back to my ritual burial up to my neck in work next to an arthill, so that the art can come and strip the flesh from my bones, or however that works.