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Wrens are not Squirrels

A Carolina Wren sang from the upper branches of the Japanese Persimmon. The song was more warble-y than usual, and I went to the back door to listen and watch, slowly closing the patio door since the heat of the day had arrived.

Another Wren in the pond caught my attention. It was splashing in the fountain: rolling one way and then the other, shaking and puffing and then rolling again. Then it hopped up onto a standing stem of Horsetail: swiping/cleaning its beak, shaking and puffing, preening for two or three minutes. At which point the Wren hopped back into the water and did it all again — three more times.

The Wren then flew over to a puddle of sun on the back of a blue patio chair and puffed and shook and then flew over to a potted Texas Star Hibiscus. It landed on the rim and plopped into the soil in another puddle of sun: rolling one way and then the other, shaking and puffing and then rolling again. The potting dirt went flying. 

It then flew off, leaving a depression in the pot where all that rolling and shaking had just taken place.

And here I have always blamed the squirrels for this.