Incessant chirping signaled the urgent need for food. The infant bobble-head birds were crying for Mrs. Wren’s beak-to-beak deposits. They were desperate. Mother Bird was perfectly willing and able to provide for her babies. She flew with winged efficiency from the nearest “supermarket” to her nest inside herĀ birdhouse. (Ahem . . . OUR birdhouse) The only hindrance was me! I was sitting at the deck table, minding my own business, when she started fussing at me. (Warning: I like to put words in the mouths, I mean beaks, of our feathered friends.) “Get off of this deck and go…