We just returned from a few days vacation at Smith Mountain Lake in Virginia. While there, I was amused by the antics of a little wren. I had seen one several times in a tree just off the back porch of the cabin in which we stayed. It seemed to have a favorite branch to which it would return after being out and about. Moths had been attracted to the light on the porch ceiling the night before and were folded up for the day, awaiting another evening. The wren spotted them hanging from the ceiling and would fly up, pluck them one at a time and eat them. At least the bodies. The wings were discarded, having little nutritional value and being rather chokey to swallow, sorta like a eating a powdered donut with nothing to wash it down.
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