One week in and Tommy Titmouse is still a-knockin' on our east and north-facing windows and doors. In fact, he's gotten louder and bolder. He'll stage an attack with us standing as close as twelve inches inside the glass, frequently hanging upside down (him, not us).
Darn bird should have worn his beak down to a nubbin. Wendy Dog sleeps through his racket now, Husband ignores him, and Fio tries to. Familiarity breeds contempt. Ho-hum, are the hummingbirds using the birdfeeder yet?