I watched her the last couple of evenings. How brave she was sitting there. The darkness to her was even more so because she was inside at night. Alone except for the five promises of new life she now gave her full attention. Alone, with one visitor only in the daylight. Come to relieve her watch. Let her stretch her wings. Bring her tasty morsels. But at night it was up to her. Keep them warm. Keep them safe. She shifted position carefully. She tapped the bottom with her beak and turned the eggs every now and then. She knew her job. She didn’t know her fate.
It was time to turn the camera off. We heard a noise. It should not be. It was more than the rain on the box. Something trying to get in. Was it her mate? No. It had an arm. It came in quickly. It swiped back and forth. Something’s trying to take her I screamed. There was movement. Both the bird and the arm. Then she was gone. The arm came back and swiped back and forth again and again but all it got was the grass from the nest. The eggs were too far down to reach. But she was gone.
He ran outside with a flashlight into the pouring rain. He looked but did not see her. He did not see the owner of the arm either. Did it have her? Did she fly away? The nest is a mess but the eggs are safe. But it’s raining, and it’s nighttime, and it’s only mid-May. Not warm enough to be unattended. Not after four days of patient incubation.
If she’s not dead, will she come back? We don’t know. We don’t know.
Having the camera in the box was a joy that suddenly became so painful. We wanted to be witness to nature but not this way.
We are so sad.