Robins
Yes, Robins. A seemingly odd juxtaposition to last weeks ‘Cold’. Never-the-less the Robins are here.
A large Pyracantha in the yard attracts Robins to feast on the over-ripe berries. According to Private Lives of Garden Birds by Calvin Simonds, as Robins migrate from the southern United States to the North, they depend on wild berries and other fruits as essential food sources. This accounts for the red-breasted invasion, but Mr. Simonds does not mention a word about ‘drunk Robins’.
The spectacle does not last more than a few days; during which the Robins lose all sobriety. They swagger-fly and drunk-hop until the Pyracantha berries are so perfectly and completely gleaned from the bush as to put to shame any mechanized method for berry picking.
So for these few days, the harbingers of Spring entertain me with their ribald behavior. Under the influence, they can’t fly high, if indeed they can get off the ground. They really do ‘drunk-hop’. They screech and squabble with each other; and a truly hilarious moment is watching a drunk Robin dig up a worm and then try to keep it from his rowdy buddies.
Standing at the kitchen window, tightening my babuska against the cold, laughter warms my heart as I watch the antics of the drunk Robins and know that Spring is not far off.