Well, whaddya know. Turns out the robin hadn’t left the scene after all. He was just out cruising the robin equivalent of singles bars in order to find a lady bird he could entice with the robin equivalent of sure-fire opening lines. So before long, the arbor vitae in my backyard will be alive with the flitter-flutter of little wings.
Meanwhile, Mr. Robin J. Redbreast, Esq., is getting awfully territorial. I saw him scrapping with one of the local cardinals yesterday morning. The dogs staged one of their Westie jailbreaks this morning, and as I was checking the fence for egress points I walked a little too close to the arbor vitae and Mr. Redbreast exploded out of the greenery a foot in front of my nose.
Chill out, dude. I don’t even like hen’s eggs, much less robin’s eggs, so your brood is safe from me. Show a little gratitude that I’m keeping dogs that like nothing better than snacking on cats that otherwise endanger the family.