Recently we had a couple of days’ rain and wind which prevented me from visiting the nest site. I figured it would be a good thing to give the poor harassed parents a break from my sticky beaking (pun totally intended).

But when yesterday dawned beautiful and clear, I hotfooted it up there to have a looksee. It took a while but then it became clear — where there was once Larry, Curly and Mo, now just two chicks remain.

I rushed to the ever-reliable internet to find out some background and it transpires that this can happen — if one chick is significantly weaker, and/or if food is scarce, and/or if the nest is unusually exposed to bad weather, the stronger ones may turf it out. Survival of the fittest, see?

Or, I guess one of those hungry Currawongs might have finally reached into the nest and fished out a chick for dinner. The thought does not endear them any further.

In light of this development, I regret naming the chicks now. Let’s not speculate as to which of the Three Stooges is no longer with us. I suppose this is nature’s way, but one less kestrel is sad, too.