Spring and Our Crazy Robin

Thud. Thud. Thud. What you hear is a crazy robin banging his head repeatedly against our patio door. In a frenzy of territoriality, he has determined that his reflection in the window is his arch enemy. Again and again he attacks the dangerous bird, only to find the guy comes right back.

So he hangs out there, just outside the door, jealously guarding his rights. “Take that!” I imagine him saying as he races full speed into the door. “You can’t treat me like this!” Thud. “I won’t take this kind of attitude!” Thud.

We have tried to convince him the challenging bird is not real. First we closed the curtains. No go. Thud, thud, thud continued from behind the curtain. Turning to the internet for suggestions, we took a bar of soap and scribbled all over the glass. For a short while Mr. Robin was confused and stayed away, but then he realized his enemy was still lurking behind the scribbles. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Next we taped some newspaper to the window. Our robin friend was deterred, but only briefly. Soon he was thudding again, this time aiming right for Donald Trump, which at least was reasonable on a certain level.

At last, my brilliant husband suggested moving the patio door screen to the window the robin insisted on attacking.

It worked. For the first time in 24 hours I went about my kitchen work without being distracted by the angry suicidal robin.

Then, just as I was starting the dishwasher, I heard it, softer, but unmistakable. Thud, Thud, Thud.

 Mr. Robin had found another enemy, this one in the living room window. He would fling himself at the reflection and then rest a moment on the porch chair calling for a mate. Fling and call. Fling and call.

As I opened the front door, the robin flew away. I watched him perch in the Bradford pear briefly, before hurling himself at the upstairs bedroom window.

Mr. Robin, I know you want a mate. I know you are trying to show just how tough you are by attacking every phantom enemy in sight. But really. Have you considered that maybe Miss Robin might be more impressed with a more emotionally stable mate? Someone willing to build a nest with her, and maybe share in feeding baby robins? Someone who can tell the difference between a real danger and an imagined one?

As I write, the thudding continues. Robins just don’t listen.