Not the sharpest tack in the box There are so many serious things going on in the world right now it makes me want to run and hide. So, instead of examining those feelings, or discussing something of import, I think I'll talk about robins. Yes, robins, the cheerful heralds of spring. The birds who sing so beautifully as soon as the sky starts to lighten in the morning. If it weren't so bloody early in the morning, maybe more people would enjoy it. Luckily for me, I sleep in the basement. Specifically though, one robin in particular is standing out in my mind. The story goes like this. I came home from being out one morning, and I had to go right back out into the world so I left the garage door open. When I came back out, I was suprised to hear fluttering near the ceiling. I looked up and low and behold, a robin was flying around and around the top of the garage. He would fly a circuit and then land on the garage door, obviously looking for a way out and completely missing the wide open hole in the side of the garage. I didn't have a hope of showing him the exit so I had to leave the door open in the hopes that eventually, by some fluke, he'd find his way out. Which, apparently, he did sometime in the four hours I was away. When push comes to shove, it is much preferable to have a bat with you in an enclosed space than a bird. I know because now I've experienced both. Bats navigate by sonar so they never run into anything. I'm not entirely sure how birds navigate, but they run into everything. If you are in a room with a bat and you open a door to the outside, the bat will find it and leave with a minimum of fuss. A bird, on the other hand, will miss the open door for hours. I love the song of the robin, the symbol of the robin, watching robins run up and down the fence in my backyard, but I hope to never have such a close encounter with one again. |