This time of year, when I’m not writing, I’m hanging out in the garden. My daughter gave me a beautiful hanging pot of impatiens for Mother’s Day. I hung them on the front porch where I could enjoy them every day as I sit and write.

We went out of town to a wedding for six days and when I returned, I pulled out the hose and watered my parched flowers. When I came to the impatiens, a bird suddenly flew out of the pot and when I looked closer, I realized there was a nest in the middle of the pot. Dilemma…do I attempt to relocate the nest or permit the flower to die off? The nest won, I let the flower die.

I confessed my transgression to my daughter through the coward’s way out, a text message along with a picture of the pot. Have I told you how much I detest text messaging? It’s a “socially acceptable” form of passive aggressive communication. Don’t wanna face someone when you tell them “no” or deliver negative news? Send a text.

Now, I don’t mind using text messaging to convey a pick piece of information, i.e., a phone number or quick answer to a question that would otherwise keep two people on the phone for maybe thirty seconds with no small talk. When did small talk go out of style, anyway?

While I’m on the subject, how about the text messages you receive asking if it’s okay to call you? What the heck? If I can’t answer, I won’t pick up. I might send you a quick text with an explanation as to why I couldn’t answer, but most likely, I’ll just call you back when I can. If you’re trying to save time by sending a text asking permission to call instead of making a phone call, think about the time you just wasted sending the text, not to mention the time it takes the recipient to respond.

But, I digress. This blog was supposed to be about Boo’s nest.

So, we returned from dinner and found Boo perched on the front porch railing. He rarely does that, so I commented at how cute he looked. Then, Frank noticed he was staring at the bird nest pot swinging above him. I was appalled and shooed him away with a quick explanation why he shouldn’t bother the birds. He ignored me, pretending not to understand. I can always tell when he ignores me. It’s not hard, since it’s all the time.

I found another three-foot-long flowerpot and put it next to the one right under the hanging nest, limiting Boo’s access to the nest.  We corralled Boo and ushered him inside for the night. He paced back and forth trying to get back outside every time the door opened, but we headed him off at the pass. Problem solved, or so I thought.

The next morning, Frank let Boo out for his typical 6 am tour of the property. Frank reported that it wasn’t long before he heard a loud thump only to find both the three-foot planter and Boo on the ground about eight feet below. The nest swung back and forth, and the bird was on the Crepe Myrtle fussing about the sudden earthquake, aka, feline attack.

I came out with my morning coffee and sternly told Boo “no!” repeatedly when he would perch on the railing, stalking the nest once again. I pushed him off several times before I turned on the garden hose. All I did was show him the sprayer and he got the hint.

I surveyed the area for another place for the hanging nest, one where the bird wouldn’t be freaked out from its relocation. We determined that the gutter on the front of the house would work and it did, much to Boo’s chagrin. We watched for the birds to return. They did, although they had to change their flight path. The nest now hangs about three feet away from the railing and we’re hoping the worst that will happen is Boo will attempt to take flight, hit the pot, and land on all fours ten feet below.

So far, the birds are safe and Boo’s seemed to realize his limitations, only trying to get to the hanging nest in his dreams.