RIVER CITY JOURNAL: HIS EYE IS ON THE SPARROW; OUR IS ON THE CAT

We didn't put out a sign for bird boarders, but we have another one this spring. Too bad they didn't talk to last year's pigeons.

It is impossible, of course, to speak for every bird, but in general I marvel at how a creature with such a tiny brain can be so smart.

Take the mockingbird, for example. There's one in residence again this year in the holly tree at the corner of the Presbyterian church. This Pavarotti of our feathered friends must be trying to attract a mating partner. He has 20 or 30 songs, and he warbles through the entire repertoire early in the day as the sun is coming up. I don't know how anyone could fail to be inspired by such beauty and industriousness.

There are all kinds of mating rituals for birds. We used to watch the mourning doves strut on our patio. And then there is the unusual bit of courtship among cardinals. When the female accepts a male, it allows the papa cardinal to feed her, much like a chick in the nest.

When it comes to the business of building nests, laying eggs and hatching chicks, however, some birds start showing why small brains have their limits.

Remember our pigeons last spring? Without even bothering to build a nest, they chose an urn on our second-story balcony for raising a family. The mother pigeon laid two eggs, and the mother and father took turns sitting on the nest. They went through an elaborate ritual of exchanging places over the eggs.

Unfortunately, that story did not have a happy ending. Enough said.

Some years ago, our younger son and I were taking a walk along a country road in the middle of Missouri. We noticed a lot of grapevines hangning from the trees and lying on the ground. Before long we had collected some of the vines and had wound and woven them into a nice wreath. I knew my wife wanted a grapevine wreath, and what mother could resist such a thing of beauty from a son?

Indeed, my wife was tickled with the wreath. She asked a friend who was a floral designer to embellish the bare grapevines using pine cones, waterlily pods and ribbon. The decoration even includes a fake bird perched on a grapevine. The bird looks real.

This is our winter wreath. Yes, there is a summer wreath, and it is time to change.

Except for one problem. A young sparrow has decided to build a nest in the wreath, somewhat protected by a pine cone. The fake bird serves as a faithful sentry for the nest, which now has two eggs in it. The mother bird sits on the nest some of the time.

Changing the wreath is no longer a high priority in our home. But my wife and I are concerned about the bird and the future of its eggs. While we could use another entrance, it would be inconvenient. The front door is opened and closed several times each day. The mail carrier comes six days a week. The paper is thrown against the door seven days a week. Passers-by walk on the sidewalk within just a few feet of the nest.

All in all, the sparrow -- much like her pigeon cousins -- hasn't exactly made the best homesite decision.

I'd like to tell you there will be a happy ending to the bird-nesting story this year. But even if we don't ruin the young bird's chances of raising a family, there are nest-robbing bluejays to think about.

And the cat.

Our cat has never been outside, but it obviously was trained by a hunting mother. Its chin quivers whenever the mockingbird sings -- not from musical appreciation, I assure you. When the pigeons were on the balcony, the cat spent much of its time on his hind legs looking through the lower panes of the French doors. The pigeon finally accepted the glinting eyes and dancing whiskers.

Now the cat has decided to camp on the bottom step of the stairs beside our front door. It can see the silhouette of the bird on the nest, and it makes chattering noises with its teeth. We think that means the biggest portion of the cat's small brain, much like the sparrow's, is devoted entirely to where the next meal will come from.

I wish there were something we could do for the sparrow. But while God's eye is on it, the hand of man typically gums things up when it comes to Things Best Left to Nature. So we will let this springtime drama play out to its last act on its own.

We wish the sparrow well. And we warn all visitors not to be too surprised if that bird in the wreath suddenly takes flight.

~R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.