Ode to 'Springtease'

While I sit and contemplate the change of seasons, I note the swing between cold wet rain or sleet and mornings of song birds, blue skies and warmer days. This is a new season I’ve dubbed "Springtease."

I am confident we will get to summer days, as they arrive every year. BUT, less than welcome is the (re)appearance of a singular robin. I don’t know the life span of a robin so I don’t know if it is last year’s miscreant or an offspring with his father’s DNA.

Last year’s edition spent months defending his imagined territory. The quixotic warrior attacked his reflection and shat upon just about every window and door in our house, never succeeding in ridding the area of himself. I thought he would figure out somewhere during his hundreds of attacks that his tactic failed. (I think this is the origin of the term “bird brained.”)

So now he’s baaack! What to do? A survey of defensive measures I found online proved to be impractical or ineffective. So I explored other remedies. I asked our neighborhood red-tailed hawk to intervene but found he was the exception, a vegetarian. Next, I sought out the coyote that roams our yard and was told he mainly works nights and besides, he does not like getting feathers stuck between his teeth. In desperation I sought out the sparrow who killed cock robin with his bow and arrow and learned he was retired. The arthritic archer could no longer pull his bowstring.

So here I sit contemplating murder and mayhem restrained only by a law forbidding the discharge of firearms in Westlake, and fear of reprisals from the Audubon Society if I try other means too gruesome to describe. In the meantime, I sit and helplessly watch this red-breasted menace despoil our domicile. Yikes!