The shrill cries of fledgling robins heralds the shift into late Spring here in the rainy land of trees. I have two nests within sight this year. One houses a very content couple of house finches. They have four beautiful eggs, and are as proud as peacocks about it. The father, with his blazing red cap and very bright eyes, sits proudly on the powerline and will let no one near. The other nest is the home for a family of robins: two parents, and a few very audacious young fledglings. The younglings are just learning how to fly and making a mess out of it. The last one to leave the nest was particularly befuddled. He dove at the ground, and then, in a frantic attempt to reach the safety of the skies, flew straight at a reflection in the window, and hovered there for a few minutes, vainly knocking himself against the glass. Exhausted, he was forced to retreat to the ground. It took a good five minutes of encouragement from his father to attempt flight again. At last, he reached the top of the gate and received a worm as a reward. Just as he was beginning to adjust to the gate and consider attempting the roof, a large crow attacked, sending both Mr. and Mrs. Robin into a frenzy of fear. Luckily, he missed the baby on his first attempt, and he did not get a chance at a second try. Both parents flew at him like flighter jets, swift and deadly. A pair of sparrows looking for a nest in the area joined the chase, and Mr. House Finch added his shrill screams to the general mayhem.
The crow did not stay long. I suspect he has a nest in the area himself;he retreated to a nearby pine and cawed his distaste for a good hour, but did not return.
The fledglings are exploring the outside world for the first time, and giving their poor parents quite a job of keeping them safe. Quite a mother's day for mama robin.

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