Kickass, the doorstop dog, reporting for those who want to dispense with world-wide fretting and be concerned ONLY about the nuthatch nest in the oak outside the keeper’s bedroom window, the news is that incubating can be boring and it is therefore entirely appropriate to speculate on just what goes through the incubating bird’s mind during some of those endless hours. These would be bird thoughts, obviously, and might include the following:
- How the hell did I come to be called “nuthatch.” It’s not very complimentary, though I suppose it is better than “brown creeper.”
- If that snooty red-bellied woodpecker comes snooping around again I plan to call the crows.
- Damn squirrels! Why don’t they get jobs?
- So Wisconsin is thinking of hunting Sandhill cranes. A nuthatch season cannot be far behind.
- I wish these eggs would hurry up and hatch, my back hurts from so much sitting.
- It’s raining again. Or is that snow. You never know in Wisconsin.
- Where the hell is my mate—I need another grub!