Eleven days ago, I posted a photo of Mrs. Robin's second clutch. Someone asked me how I knew it was the same Momma Robin. I don't, really. However, she does not fly off when I go out on the front porch to add water to the fountain or to water the plants. I believe it is the same one.
Today, I saw some beaks peaking up over the nest and stood on the capstone ledge to get a photo. All four not-so-much-baby-birds are crammed into the nest. From their size, this batch will not be with me much longer, given how little I saw of the older birds from the last clutch. They don't really look like robins, do they? I wonder how they decide which two of them get stuck beneath the other two.
Mrs. Robin sat on one of my stone lions scolding me at the top of her voice whilst I snapped a few photos of her young. I told her that given I had only taken four photos during two clutches, she really had nothing to complain about. I certainly have given her and her brood space.
Today, I have been battling nausea and writhing and a sulking Amos. The latter is because I sheered him a bit, pulled out the icky, waxy, curls from inside his ears, and combed out the tangles in his ears and tail. Amos can sulk like nobody's business.
At the moment, my blood pressure is low, despite two servings of pretzels, and my heart rate is caddywhompus. I really, really, really dislike feeling my heart and changing blood pressure. So, I would actually appreciate even more the company of my fluff-ball. Amos, however, has yet to forgive me.
Life in a fallen world...
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