I moved into this house a few months ago.
Winter, snow, cold. And Silence.
Then the spring came, and so did the crazy swallows.
Now, I do not usually judge birds, or dogs, or animals in general; except moths, to be honest, but that’s another story.
But those swallows – oh dear – they were absolutely mad.
They started flying at breakneck speed, and singing as if they wanted to be heard on the other side of the world, at five in the morning, and would go on for hours.
The joys of living in a park.
Then, one Sunday morning, I woke up at some very strange sound. Not the kids upstairs. Not the alarm clock. Not the swallows.
Wait! Not the swallows?!
It was so scary I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I went for a walk as soon as the sun came out.
And there was no one around. Not a soul.
Not a dog, not a cat, not a cockroach.
Sad, worried, and by then convinced that the world had come to an end while I was sleeping, I hid in the house. Surrounded by crows.
And then they struck back.
Four in the afternoon, the swallows arrived. Crazier than usual.
I wish I could say it was an epic battle but it wasn’t. They just flew around the park and sang, and the crows left.
The order was re-established.
Now they’re all here, crows – not as many as on the freaky Sunday – and swallows. And blackbirds.
I wish it might be this simple for humans.