I let the dogs out this morning around 10am. I heard some alert calls echo through the trees but didn't give them much thought. A few minutes later I heard what could only be described as the bird equivalent of a fight on the Maury show. I went outside to investigate, and quickly noticed something sitting on the tallest stump in the yard.
... a feathery, gangly, bewildered something.
I got closer to confirm it was indeed a young robin. Presumably, it had tried to fly and only got as far as the tall stump. Realizing its own limitations, it was just sort of sitting there.
I decided to rescue the damn thing. I don't know why, but my brain didn't really make the connection that perhaps it would have been wise to put the dogs in the house before I attempted said rescue. I think you can see where this is going.
The dogs hadn't noticed the young robin yet. As I approached the stump in an effort to move the bird outside the yard, six adult robins decided that I was up to no good and started dive-bombing me. This enraged my valiant protector (Jayne) and he threw himself at the birds. He quickly dispatched two of the dive-bombing bird terrorists by grabbing them out of the sky. This only served to make the remaining four robins even more mad.
In the meantime, the young robin decided that he would attempt to hop/walk/bumble his way to safety. Of course, he figured squeaking the whole time would heighten his chance of success. All he succeeded in doing was to draw attention to himself. Poison and Talla decided he was a squeaky toy and started following him around. They weren't touching him - just following him with interest.
So imagine this. I am crouched down as low as I can to avoid being pecked to death by four enraged robins. Jayne is running around the yard like a Viking Berserker - attempting to add more robin kills to his name. Adolescent robin is hopping around, squeaking, while two in casual pursuit. It was a total disaster.
Since I was unable to move, I decided to take a few photos.
Eventually I was able to grab all three dogs and drag them inside, but not before Jayne killed two more of the adult robins. Once I had a chance to check everyone over for injuries, I went back outside (wearing a hat made out of a cardboard box) to see if I could locate the poor retarded teenage bird. I scoured every inch of the yard but he was nowhere to be found. He either:
B.) was somehow eaten in the fray
C.) got into the garage
D.) miraculously learned how to fly more than 18" off the ground.
I'm assuming A and C are the most likely scenarios. I wish him a long and prosperous life, and hope he's learned a valuable lesson... that my yard is not a safe place for his kind. Especially when Jayne the Terrible is in full bloodwrath mode. I'm sure the robins will tell stories of him for generations to come.