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???Bang!
Bang! Bang!???
I was
trying to work in my home office. There is always something
that strives to keep me from getting any work done. The
sound was coming from our living room. I decided to
investigate, armed as I was with only a nearly exhausted Bic
pen.
There was
nothing in the room except my faithful canine companion,
Towhee. Towhee was staring at the large picture window
filling a good portion of one end of the room. I heard a
bit of what I could only describe as fluttering and then the
banging began again.
I saw the
culprit. It was a robin. I wasn??™t surprised. The robin,
particularly the male robin, is known for its attacks upon
windows. The male bird, all but dripping in testosterone,
sees its image in the reflection from the glass and decides
to drive the intruder from the area. It is a territory
thing. The robin spots its mirrored image and thinks, ???That
is an unbelievingly handsome fellow, but he has to go.???
Then he attacks. The image in the window proves to be a
tough foe to vanquish. The robin needs to attack
regularly.
This
problem can usually be corrected by removing the image by
soaping the window or placing cardboard or waxed paper on
the outside of the glass. A feisty male bird, feeling his
oats and suffering from what my wife calls ???a guy thing,???
will move to another window. I have seen birds fight with
an exterior mirror or a baby moon hubcap on a car.
I removed
the reflection from our window with some waxed paper and
thinking the problem solved; I went back to my endeavors.
Shortly,
I heard the all too familiar banging. Towhee barked. I
assumed that the robin had moved his aggressive behavior to
another window. He had not. The robin was continuing his
fight with the same window. I soaped the window while
leaving the wax paper on.
I barely
made it to my office when the banging on the windowpane
resumed. Towhee now had assumed the posture of head tilted
to one side as she looked at the window. This is the way
she expresses confusion. I tilted my head to the side. I
was confused also. I placed cardboard over the window
without removing the soap or the wax paper. This would fix
the robin??™s wagon, I was convinced.
I almost
sat down on my desk chair when the banging began again. The
cardboard only worked to amplify the sound. I walked
outside once again to confront my tormentor. The robin was
attacking an image that existed only in his memory. The
robin fought so fiercely that he left blood on the window
and on the cardboard. He would fight to the point of
exhaustion. I could actually pick the worn out bird up in my
hands. The robin needed to enroll in an anger management
class.
As the
frequency of the bird??™s forays into battle failed to lessen,
I decided that I needed to spend more time with my feathered
friend. I watched the robin arrive early in the morning.
He would fly into the yard from undisclosed sleeping
quarters and begin his day with a refreshing bath in our
birdbath. He seemed to really relish the invigorating dip.
Then it was time for breakfast. It is the most important
meal of the day. He flew to a highbush cranberry shrub. A
beautiful plant, this cranberry is what I call a ???spinach
plant.??? There are ???ice cream plants??? that produce berries
that birds devour the minute they become ripe. The
raspberries, blueberries and serviceberries in my yard
suffer this fate. The ???spinach plants??? are those that
produce fruit that the birds may not be willing to eat until
the tastier berries are gone. Some of these berries need a
frost on them to make them palatable. Sometimes the fruit
of the highbush cranberry hang on the tree all winter long
and provide much needed sustenance to the birds arriving in
the spring. These were the berries my friend robin was
eating.
I watched
a normal robin chow down on the shriveled cranberries.
Suddenly, the bird??™s demeanor changed??”and not for the
better. After downing a certain number of berries, the
robin flew rather erratically to the window hidden behind
the cardboard and began fighting with the spot where it
believed its image to be.
Then it
dawned on me. The robin was eating fermented berries.
Fermented berries with a bit more alcohol in them than your
average berry. I was dealing with a sloshed robin. This
explained his Jekyll and Hyde behavior.
There was
only one thing to do.
I called
the local chemical dependency treatment center. I asked one
of the counselors if they treated avian alcoholism. I
admitted that I did not know if the bird had insurance to
cover the treatment.
It
sounded like the guy hung up on me.
It must
have been a bad connection.
?©Al
Batt 2002
71622
325 St.
Hartland, MN 56042
SnoEowl @ aol.com
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To read archived stories, click on this link:
http://archives.zinester.com/9516/2004
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Blessings to you today
Bob Johnston
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