Monday 18 April 2022

Not Really My Friend.





 


The robin, or perhaps two robins are flitting around with so much stuff in their beaks that they can barely see where they are going. They are scarifying my near-by lawn, possibly saving me from the trouble of doing so, ripping at fragments of  dried grass and moss. They want to go into the thick hedge of ivy, but I am sitting too near it. 

I am sitting on the new stone patio area, enjoying the warm sun of this Easter Bank Holiday, making a slow recovery from the brain-fog and other discomforts of Covid.  I am appreciating the new area of the garden, mildly speculating about its development, listening to the constant humming of insects (or maybe it's still the Covid tinnitus). Anyway, the robins want me out of it.

This is their chosen place. They need to fly from the lawn to the back of the garden chair, and then, after looking all round, make a swift hop into the ivy with their load of building materials, but now I'm sitting on the chair they have appropriated as a landing stage. How infuriating is that?

It is infuriating enough to make at least one of them dive so close to my head that I flinch. Prior to this they have shouted at me from some distance, then hopped along the garden table to where my arm is resting in order to shout at me in close-up. One of them has come perilously close to my hand, its bright little eyes gleaming, its head tilting speculatively from side to side. Is any portion of my hand edible? Does it contain food or building material? Can it be shifted by sheer robin will-power? I remain immobile. I'm comfortable in the sunny warmth, and I'm interested to see just how far they will go to get rid of me.

People often say they have these incredibly friendly robins in their gardens. Robins who perch on the handles of their tools, who follow them around the garden, singing to them, just wanting company. Little friends. Charming robins of the sort that feature on Christmas cards, bearing good wishes.

The robins in my garden also zoom in as soon as I go out, not to be friends, but to see what I can unearth for them. I am a useful provider, as the wild boar used to be in an Anglo-Saxon forest, which is probably where the robins learned to follow creatures who could dig up grubs. Any minute now they will make me go and scarify the lawn for them, and possibly put the scarifications near to where I know they are building their nest.

I admire them for their determination, tenacity and strength in protecting what they most firmly believe to be their territory with all its resources. Their strength is such that they will kill one another if necessary, and their tenacity enables them to drive away a great lumbering giant who is seriously interrupting a vital bit of their survival process.

The lumbering giant goes back to the house to make a cup of coffee.

 Friends we are not - but I do understand.


11 comments:

  1. They do know their territory!!
    Gently does it with the recovery..you join Pirate in that.
    A little bit more every day and no pushing things xx

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  2. What a wonderful picture you have painted for us. Thank you.
    And please be gentle and kind to yourself.

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  3. gz and EC: thank you both for such kind comments. I'm not good at being kind to myself, but this morning the robins provided much entertainment and food for thought - and I obviously did a similar thing for them.
    Just being outside, sitting still in the sunshine and watching so many little lives going on around me is a wonderful tonic
    My best wishes to Pirate - and to so many others affected by recovery from Covid.

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  4. Patience is your friend, here. I really wonder how much having to return to work immediately left me in a very vulnerable place.

    This post does remind me of the song Birdhouse in Your Soul

    I'm your only friend
    I'm not your only friend
    But I'm a little glowing friend
    But really I'm not actually your friend
    But I am

    Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch
    Who watches over you
    Make a little birdhouse in your soul
    Not to put too fine a point on it
    Say I'm the only bee in your bonnet
    Make a little birdhouse in your soul

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  5. Zhoen:
    Thank you. I need to hear that song sung (when hearing allows) but I do like the idea of the blue canary in the outlet by the light switch watching over me, rather than the robins dive-bombing me.

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  6. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9zOKBvHNWus

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  7. I love this post. It's what I think about robins too. I can forgive them for being little thugs because they are also cheeky and charming, and really very brave to get so near to us. We once heard the most appalling row in our front garden, which has a brick wall hemming it in and 2 ridiculously large pillars either side of the gate. The row was coming from 2 robins, one on each pillar. first of all fighting each other on one pillar, and then flying over to fight each other on the other pillar, making enough noise for ten. There was definitely a "to the death" feeling about it,a right pair of little prizefighters. It was downright dangerous to go in or out of the gate until they had finished, they were both so furious. Thankfully one flew away so we didn't have to clear up a dead robin after they had finished!

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  8. I too was gardening beside a robin the other day. I never understand how (laws of selection and all that) robins evolved to be so fearless. You'd think the fearless ones would get eaten and not survive to breed. But they're very jolly. I hope you're totally recovered before too long, though.

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  9. I'm the "lumbering giant" who has conversations with the lizards in our garden. They're very attentive listeners though they don't have much to say. I also have a "back and forth" going with the cardinals who frequent our trees. The jury is out on whether they're haranguing me or shouting that they love me. Until someone proves me wrong I'm leaning towards the latter. Glad to hear you survived all the covid craziness and are enjoying your "new" garden.

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  10. Came back here to reread this lovely account of The Robins and the Lumbering Giant, so beautifully told. I would very much like to have a "Little Birdhouse in my Soul." They are such fascinating creatures.

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