At the end of that piece, I mentioned that the main character finally removed the bird house from in front of their window, in order to encourage the birds to live elsewhere and fly into someone else's windows.
In the nonfictional version of this story... I didn't move the bird house. I meant to. I thought about it. I very nearly did. But then I didn't. The house still swings from the tree outside my window. I thought to myself "Oh, you have time. It's winter and the birds won't be back and looking for housing for a couple of months."
As of today, I am entirely incorrect. About a lot of things, I'm sure, but particularly about the birdhouse and its occupants. Apparently the sweet little blue birds that were so fond of my windows last year are back for round two, and have already built their nest and seem to have had little chirping babies inside the birdhouse. Or they have cleverly procured a recording of chirping baby birds so as to convince me not to move their house. Which would not be beyond the realm of possibility; these birds are as smart as they are violent. They have dropped by a couple of times to say hello to my window and remind me that I really ought to take my husband's advice when he gives it... and not 8 months later.
Given that I can't even kill the baby snakes when they break into my house... I won't be moving the birdhouse. Because I can't bear the thought of making the mama bird mad and forcing her to abandon her little chicklets. And because birds tapping on my window is probably appropriate penance for being lazy and not relocating the house when I should have.