Some years ago we began hanging birdhouses from the underside of the deck and we are up to six (or seven, if one counts the two-story duplex as two units) and each summer we host families of sparrows, each of which raises usually three broods of little ones. I love watching the nest construction, the mating dance, the feeding, and ultimately the flying lessons.
We didn't know what had happened to cause the house to fall, and certainly didn't know how the nest came out of the little door hole. The house had not come apart. We speculated that perhaps a narrow-armed creature (and we did not want to get more specific than that) had reached in, searching for eggs, and pulled the nest apart and out.
When he had a moment, Joe got the ladder, went out and rehung the gray house, and did a better job of it this time. He went to put the ladder back in the house and when he emerged moments later, Mr. Sparrow was on the perch and the lady of the house was inside redecorating. Back to Business As Usual.
We wondered if we should have stuffed the materials back in, but our favorite nature show had taught us that birds are far more particular about things than we would imagine, and decided to let well enough alone.
FEMA, Near Philadelphia, signing off.