Cohabiting With the Robins

It was April or May when I learned that there must be a robin's nest in a near by tree. On more than one occasion, I would wake up at around 6am to a tap-tap-tapping at my bedroom window. When I would pull back the curtains, I would make eye-contact with a robin fluttering about the window. She would land on the sill, cock her head to one side as she sized me up, and then fly off, allowing me to sleep for the remaining hour before my alarm.

Moving through summer, I occasionally saw Miss Robin flying around, or perched in the elm in front of my house.

Yesterday, as I was transplanting some lamium on the north side of my house, I heard fluttering. A young robin had gotten himself caught in a tight space between the fence and the downspout of my eave. I lifted him out of the space, and he exited my hands as quickly as he could. He half-flew, half-tumbled into my yard, and then proceeded to hop away. Whether he injured his wing getting caught, or had done so before hand, I'm not sure. But it was about this point that major freak-outs ensued. Apparently, his siblings and Mama (formerly Miss) Robin were hanging out near by. They all started cheeping fiercely--the siblings calling for their other, and angry Mama Bird yelling at me. Mama Bird flew back and forth between the elm tree and the fence where I was standing, stressed and vocal.

I managed to get the young robin back onto the other side of the fence. He flew low, short distances around the neighbour's yard, and I left him to his family. The loud cheeping ensued for a good 15 minutes, but I think they eventually realized that I had not been trying to kidnap their kin.

Today, my back yard task list involved checking the eaves to see if they needed unclogging. It is a bit of a task in mathematics and physics to maneouver my 12' ladder in the thin space on the north side of my house, without taking out the fence or the air conditioner. A sturdy angle against the side of the house also means that the base of the ladder reaches right out to the fence. So, it took me a bit by surprise that after clambering around back there to get the ladder set up properly, I turned around to ascend the first rung and came face to face (i.e. less than a foot) with Young Robin, perched on a cedar branch overhanging my fence.

We looked at each other for a while. I knew it was the same robin I had rescued, because his one wing sat just slightly lopsided against his body. And I'm pretty sure any other robin would have flown away.

"Glad to see you made it up here. Are we friends? Do I own you now? Hmm?"

I slowly backed out of the space and retrieved my camera from the house. When I returned, he was still there. His gaze was fixed upon my hands as I worked the lens and buttons. He cocked his head slightly at the first "click" of the camera. After several pictures, I retrieved some cherries for him from my nanking bush (I had seen his Mama eating them the day before). I placed them--slowly--along the fence, mere inches from him. He watched me set each one down, but didn't move; didn't fly away.

I took several more pictures, then got brave.

I reached out a finger, and stroked his good wing. He stayed.
I stroked his freckled breast. He stayed.
I gently stroked his head. He stayed.

I stepped away and went back to my original task. Went up the ladder, cleaned the eave, came back down. He watched me the entire time.

When I went back an hour later, he had finally gone elsewhere. And had left the cherries behind. Clearly, he is doing okay despite his injury.

My friend told me that by touching him--with my scent now on him--I will have rendered him abandoned by his mama. Though I've still seen her about today in the trees, I wonder if I may have inadvertently adopted myself a bird.

That's okay.
There are plenty of nankings for both of us.