We sat together in companionable silence. I continued milking while my new friend took a break from her housekeeping chores and had a little snack, picking through the grain like it was a box of chocolates. She'd earned her rest, continuing to make any number of forays into the field for fresh bedding for her new home. Nutkin (just plain "Nutty") was making nice, evidently deciding that "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em." She'd done her best to drive me away the day before, but not one of those ear-piercing chirps yesterday. While accepting my presence, Nutty established her position, not budging an inch as I moved about with the milk buckets and switching out goats. She is clearly in charge of her ground-level domain, and I can like it or lump it.
Overhead, the sparrows add the finishing touches to their apartments. The one Silkie feather that appeared last week started a trend; jealous, other sparrow wives send their hubbies out to find such furbelows for their homes. It's normal for these busy little birds to chatter as they work, but then suddenly the entire colony will begin screeching and cluster on the hog panels and I look for the intruder. Blue jays are three or four times the size of the sparrows. I don't know if they present a danger or are just unwelcome visitors, but they send the little birds into a tizzy. I'll admit that the black band by the jay's eyes make it look like a bandit, and if something that size appeared in my doorway, I'd panic, too.
Like Ralph and Sam (from the Looney Tunes cartoons of the '50s), I imagine Nutty and I will clock in together this morning. After all, we're friends now.