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How sad for the Robin family. We have robins in our yard, along with Bill the cardinal and Tom the mockingbird, and an occasional goldfinch or flock of sparrows.
Tom drives them all away from the feeder by sitting on the pergola doing his hawk-call or barking, “Jake! Jake!” He’s moved up to attacking Jake directly now.
Tom the Mockingbird seems to be mocking life. Poor Jake.
I’m off to bed. Life is not looking happy at the moment.
We typically have several robin families in various trees, some mourning doves in some kind of overgrown pineybushthing, several sets of Rubythroat Hummers in the Cedar (you get buzz-bombed when you get close), a bluebird couple in the oak, barn swallows in the horse barn, and more robins in the treeline on the west edge of the corn field.
As an addendum to the earlier robin saga, one of our occasionally braindead cats decided that today he would strike off for the remote jumbles toward the northwest. Either hunting was good or he developed a stubborn streak (or both) and he did not stop back at the house for one or more snacks and personal attention time as is his custom usually two or three times over the course of the day. On top of that this furbeast is usually the one who is first back at the house as the sun sinks into the western sea. Or field. Or whatever.
As the darkness deepened and the clock progressed on its getting later trek, Mrs. NoC insisted I take the cat-summoning beacon and wander out into the remote jumble to see if I could convince said critter that it was time to return to the nest.
On the trek to the back of the horse barn and then through the cornfield (just planted so no plants were harmed by my tromping through) my path took me past the remains of one of the so-well-maintained-that-it-collapsed outbuildings on the western edge of the cornfield. In the beam of the cat-summoning beacon I espied a baby robin, feathered but still in its baby-speckled garb, perched upon the highest portion of the remnants of the once useful outbuilding. I have no idea where this one came from and I was glad that it was up about 6’ off the ground where it would be as-safe-as-possible until daylight and possible ‘rescue’ by its parental robins.
But the furbeast I was seeking? He remained elusive. I’m sure he was there all along remaining just out of summoning-beacon range, watching me as I wandered about the farm looking for him.
I say that because about five minutes after I called it quits and came back inside, the wayward furbeast came sauntering up (from the direction of the cornfield - you know, where I had just been) as if nothing was amiss and demanded entrance to his royal castle. Attended by his human staff. From whom he demanded his portion of furbeastfood. On his royal plate. At his royal table.
I will check for the presence of the babyspeckled robin on the morrow..
Morning Kitteh ping notice:
I’ll be at the beach starting tomorrow morning, cut off from my usual Kitteh teknolijies. The ping list is at the top of my profile page. Please share Kittehs amongst yourselves!
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