My dad and I designed a house for a wren family when I was ten years old. Itlooked like a Conestoga wagon, and had a front entrance about the size of aquarter. This made it a good house for wrens, who are tiny, and not so good forother, larger birds, who couldn’t get in. My elderly neighbour had a birdhouse,too, which we built for her at the same time, from an old rubber boot. It had anopening large enough for a bird the size of a robin. She was looking forward tothe day it was occupied.A wren soon discovered our birdhouse, and made himself at home there. Wecould hear his lengthy, trilling song, repeated over and over, during the earlyspring.
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