If you have followed the misadventures of Xena, the Amazonian robin who has set up house on our porch, you haven’t quite heard the last of her.

The large red-breasted squatter is living rent free on our baker’s rack, and reigning over her kingdom, our back porch, as if she owned the joint. She has become like a winged gladiator — ready to fight all comers for her little corner of the world. And as of Saturday, she is protecting her little brood of three.

Yup, Saturday morning we found shards of little blue eggs on the porch floor mixed with last season’s dried leaves. Frankly, after getting a pretty good look at her babies, it’s a good thing she didn’t abandon the nest as I thought she had. They are so homely, only a mother could love them.

But, even though I do care about them, let’s be realistic. Right now these miniscule birds are merely three vertical beaks, desperate for the worms and other deplorables that Xena finds to drop in their mouths. Their beaks are held up by the scrawniest necks I’ve ever seen, with a support system of maybe a few bones and skin. The trio only pops up when Xena closes in on the homestead with a mouthful of goodies. And believe me, those beaks-with-feet jockey for position when Mom arrives with the groceries.

Xena sits on the edge of her nest jamming the meals into their gaping jaws. It seems that the worms she finds in the backyard get processed into baby food, as if she had a mini-Cuisinart in her big beak.

Meal prep takes place in the short time it takes to glide back to her base of operations. Xena is an avian multi-tasker.

We began cleaning the porch, setting it up for the season, on Saturday afternoon.

As soon as we stepped through the porch door, Xena lifted off the nest and swooped away. And she does that every time we step out onto the floor of her fiefdom. I wonder what she’s thinking, leaving the little guys unprotected? Right now, the scrawny-necked trio couldn’t defend themselves from a one-winged moth.

When Xena left, we worked, but she sat on a nearby branch loudly scolding us.

It’s a good thing I don’t speak fluent Robin, because I suspect her squawks contained some unladylike profanity.

During our sit-down breaks, we chose chairs as far from the nest as we could get. It took most of our Saturday labors for her to see we weren’t interested in her family. She gradually worked her way back to the nest, hop-hopping, flying, hop-hopping and swooping. She took the long route home to avoid us. After much foraging and feeding, she settled down, with us taking in her show from the cheep seats.

Exhausted, she finally roosted atop the nest and I guess the scrawny-necked kids slept.

On Sunday, we wanted to lay the freshly cleaned porch rug, but it meant moving the baker’s rack.“Uh-oh. She’ll be fit to be tied,” I said. “But we can’t do anything else until the rug is down.”

Dear Richard said, “Tough.” We finally reasoned that it’s us against her. This freeloader doesn’t really appreciate that we’re allowing her to share our favorite outdoor space.

“She’ll be here at least two more weeks, but we have to get this done,” I said. We moved the rack, which involved some serious tilting, yet her well-built little home of sticks, leaves and mud held fast. And nobody fell out.

I have watched all these shenanigans with fascination, enjoying every second. Dear Richard is also interested. Sorta.

He commented on the mess that they always make. Another friend told me that she never allows them to build near her house because they are so filthy dirty. Yup. She’s right. They are dirty. Sometimes even filthy. But so were a few of my friends in college, and I liked them anyway.

The sheer entertainment value of Xena’s little brood makes their mess worth it. So I continue to watch, knowing that I’ll have to show up with a bucket of hot, soapy water when they’ve flown the coop.

At least they won’t barf on the floor like those old college buddies. Come to think of it, that also involved a bucket of soapy hot water. See? Good entertainment is never free.

I have a ringside seat for the antics of Xena and her Scrawny Neck Three. As Dave Barry would say, “Sounds like a good name for a rock band.”

Marcy O’Brien lives in Warren with her husband, Richard, and Finian, their pampered Maine Coon cat. Marcy can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com.