Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin

The triple-decker nest atop the front porch pillar is overflowing with robin chicks, crowded shoulder to feathery shoulder. The non-stop bug-in-beak stuffing marathon goes on all day, whether I walk through the hall way with laundry or not. They are delightful. Even their cries for food are melodious and pleasant to the ear. No mistaking that our favorite spring bird is a thrush in a gaudy vest.

This is the second brood to be reared there this spring. The first bunch fledged and were gone a few weeks ago. These three...or maybe four if someone is keeping his head down...have already cast off their fledgling down and gaping beaks and are sporting streaked chins instead and spotty breasts and bright, sharp, yellow, beaks.

I hope when they come off the nest they can avoid the cats and grackles and sharp shinned hawks that patrol the lawn to join the other patrol...the worm and grub patrol.

Or maybe they will take after their dad, the fly catcher robin that I wrote about in the Farm Side. He catches bees and bugs n the wing like a really big, awkward phoebe and is quite a sight to see.

Anyhow, I sure do like the robins. Whether they are singing at dawn and dusk and rain time or sitting on the handles of the boss's dad's old plow, announcing ownership of the back lawn in loud cheeps, they keep me company all day long. (Someone should tell the male that the catbird and the mockingbird like to sit on the plow too....really he doesn't own it at all.)