Sunday morning. June 1, 2014. Just heard the pane rattle in the window in the family room accompanied by a fwap fwap fwap fwap fwap sound and looked up to see through the translucent curtain the silhouette of a furiously fluttering bird trying to bang its way in. Almost as soon as I spotted it, however, it dropped straight down out of sight. I rushed to the door, expecting to find a concussed and broken-winged bundle of feathers splayed on the porch floor. Instead I was met with the hateful glare of a fledging robin, black and white mottled back and pale breast, stubby tail, stumpy body, weirdly full-sized head, standing firmly on his two feet, looking sullen and indignant, as if someone had played a trick on him and not only wouldn’t he forgive and forget, he would get revenge.
His first encounter with glass, I guess. I wonder how many more encounters he’ll need to learn his lesson. Reminded me of the Seinfeld bit about his aunt’s canary who every time she let him out of his cage for a little exercise would fly straight at a mirror on the wall and knock himself out of the air in the collision with the glass. “I understand why he thought there was another room in there. What I don’t understand is why he never tried to avoid the other bird.”
“You hurt?” I asked the robin.
He gave me the side-eye and flew off huffily on his still undersized but functioning wings.