Tuesday morning two plump robins hopped around in our backyard harassing a young female goldfinch. The goldfinch, having just flown in from its winter home in the deep south, was content to peck away at the apparently tasty morsels which the yard offered. The robins, exercising their territorial imperative, were intent on routing the lone intruder.
Working as a team, the two robins, their heads up, their knees stiff, bounced in tandem toward the goldfinch. The small bird looked at the threatening pair as if wondering why they who had too much would deny her a little. By scurrying between brief feedings she was able to maintain a safe distance.
We wondered, too, why this robust couple would bully their weaker cousin. She was not after their worms. Why heckle the little matron? As we watched our image of the kindly robin which graces Easter paintings, which serves as a harbinger of spring, which we embrace as our most beloved feathered friend began to fade. These spindly legged characters are the muggers of the backyard.
And then we realized what the goldfinch was feasting on. In our never-ending effort to annihilate chickweed and dandelions and promote a lush growth of grass we had spread granules of fertilizer and poison on the lawn. The goldfinch appeared to be munching on the toxic berries - berries that resemble the seeds she is accustomed to eating.
And so, in the eternal drama being staged out our kitchen window, we became the villains, the robins (falsely accused of assault and battery) became saintly protectors, attempting to keep the tender goldfinch from the poison, and the goldfinch remained the doomed femme.
The problem with all the world being a stage is that you never know what your part is.... ~T.Stucky
No comments:
Post a Comment