A pair of robins have set up housekeeping in the tree outside my office window. They built their nest yesterday morning; it took about five or six hours, and now the lady robin is sitting in it, presumably popping out an egg or two. I have a perfect, eye-level view of the proceedings, which is cool, but I’m afraid I will lose it if something bad happens. I don’t want to be pessimistic, but we have lots of squirrels and blue jays. Damn you, robins, for making me care! I can’t babysit your children! I can barely look after my own!
Speaking of birds and springtime rituals, I took the dogs to the park last weekend, and walked then through the High Park Zoo. The zoo, if you’re not familiar, is a fairly low key affair, with pens of bison and llamas and Barbary sheep. Asta has seen it all before, but Due was pretty freaked out. He didn’t bark, but would stand transfixed in front of every enclosure until I pulled him away. One Highland cow kind of snorted at him, and Due panicked, turned, and ran straight into a tree. I laughed, but he’ll have nightmares for days.
We were all fascinated by the peafowl, however. The peacock especially, who was strutting his stuff like I’ve never seen. He had the full fan tail going – just a massive display of plumage, and he was working it for the peahens, who, it seemed, could not care less. They completely ignored him, and just kept pecking and clucking to each other, like girls at a bar: “Complete douchebag at 6 o’clock. Don’t look. Head to toe label king. You can practically see the price tags. DON’T LOOK!”
I’ll keep you posted on the robins. I’ve already picked out named for the babies: Robin Williams, Robin Roberts, Robin Wright, and Robin Hood.