Yesterday, a mockingbird was giving Casserole (our black-beans-and-rice colored cat) absolute hell. Made no difference where she went -- on the porch, under the car, across the street, in the culvert -- the mockingbird buzzed her, chirped at her, grabbed her fur.

It had to be that there was a nest in the yard. I started thinking back over the last couple of weeks. I started prowling around, and sure enough, there in the Lady Banks rose on the front fence was a clump of sticks containing three ugly little birds.

Mom (or dad) sat in a nearby tree and bitched at me while I surveyed the nest and took a few pictures. We’ve left them alone now, but are watching the labors of the parents. Looks like they are close to graduating a few themselves.

Mockingbirds were pretty dull for me when I first started noticing birds. It was for the shallow reason that they were pretty dull. Just gray and white, and you saw them all over. Then I ran into a new librarian in Little Washington, a birder from the West Coast who had never seen mockingbirds until getting to North Carolina.

For him, they were the most exciting new bird he saw. He let me see and hear them in a fresh light. They remain a favorite of mine. (Other than those unmated males who sing in the yard ALL night long every night.)