There's refrain in one of Ray Stevens's old songs that goes, "They're everywhere! They're everywhere!" Everywhere I looked yesterday morning there were open mouths waiting to be fed, starting with the chicks in the laundry room. They'd completely emptied their feeding trough and they were yeeping at the top of their lungs. They've outgrown their shoebox boudoir; twelve or thirteen packed in like sardines and the remaining three or four huddling on the outside at bedtime, so the box was removed.
Thus my day begins, surrounded by gaping maws waiting to be fed. It could be worse.