Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Tweets
The topic this week was "It Was A Dark and Stormy Night."
A Children’s Story for Backward Grownups
It was a dark and stormy night. Mother Robin deposited four shiny light blue eggs into the bottom of the nest. She settled on top of them to keep them warm. Father Robin sat on a nearby twig.
Morning came, with clearing skies and the promise of a bright new day. The warm wet turf below was redolent with spring fragrances. Mother Robin wriggled over the eggs to better feel their smoothness against her rump. All was right in the world.
Tweets was the last of his clutch to hatch. His brother and two sisters were several days out of their shells. They already has eaten delicious meals of regurgitated worms which Mommy and Daddy had gathered for them.
Tweets was fortunate. He was hatched on a sunny day, so his baby fuzz dried quickly. He was completely dry when Daddy robin approached the nest. At once Tweets began fluttering and squawking wildly. Daddy dropped a fat worm into his gaping beak. It felt so good - squishy and squashy in his otherwise empty tummy. "Life sure is a blast," he thought.
All went well in the nest in those early days. Mommy and Daddy were an efficient delivery system and each day saw the young ones losing their fuzz and replacing it with feathers. At last, his elder brother, Rusty, was ready to fledge.
Rusty stood on the edge of the nest and jumped. This didn’t look very safe to Tweets and he had no desire to try it himself. Moments later Rusty landed awkwardly on the edge of the nest. He was panting heavily.
"It was great!" chirped Rusty when his breath returned. "I can’t wait to get out again."
"That’s enough for today, Rusty," cooed Mommy robin. "Maybe tomorrow Twitter and Flutter will be ready to try. You can show them the ropes."
"What about me?" cried Tweets.
"You’ll be ready in a few days," peeped Mommy robin.
Tweets thought this was for the birds, but he had no choice. His feathers just weren’t ready yet.
Next morning Twitter and Flutter fledged. Daddy robin decided to take the three eldest for some fun. "C’mon kids. I’ll show you how we decorate windshields."
A few days later Tweets knew he was ready. He hopped onto the edge of the nest and jumped.
"Use your wings, bird brain," called Rusty.
"I know," peeped Tweets as he flapped his wings and began to soar. His landing was less than graceful, but what do you expect on the first try. Tweets was happy - exhausted, exhilarated and happy.
Time passes quickly for young birds. There’s so much to learn. What’s good to eat. What animals are dangerous. How to bathe in puddles or dust patches. The seasons sped by until again it was spring.
Now Tweets felt a strange tingling. "I need a mate," he thought. "I’d better stake out a territory."
At once he began singing loudly. "That’ll bring in the girls and warn away the guys."
The next day, singing loudly, as he was perched on a limb next to the house in the center of his territory, he spied another male robin looking at him. Strangely this robin was silent.
He made a threatening move toward it, and at the same moment it made a similar movement toward him. He called menacingly at it, but the interloper remained silent.
They were now only an inch apart and Tweets decided to peck at one of its eyes. As he did, the other robin pecked back so that the two beaks met with equal force. Again and again Tweets tried, but each time his thrust was parried. Then Tweets mustered all his strength and bumped against the stranger, hoping to knock him off his perch. The stranger bumped back with equal force, almost knocking Tweets to the ground.
For hours Tweets contested with the stranger. Finally, exhausted and hungry, he broke off the encounter. As he searched for and found food, the stranger was nowhere to be seen. Tweets began to think he had prevailed. Next morning he went back to his perch adjacent to the house and began to sing. Almost at once he spied the silent stranger and their battle began again.
In a contest between robins, winning is best. Losing is second best. But a tie is traumatic.
Tweets became neurotic. He began to suffer from acute depression. Each day seemed like one long dark and stormy night. The stranger showed signs of similar affliction.
As we all know, the state of robin psychotherapy is primitive at best, nowhere near the advanced condition of the quack nostrums for ducks.
Tweets never found a mate that spring. "My life’s been blasted," he thought. The truth is, with robins as with humans, we are our own worst enemy.
A Children’s Story for Backward Grownups
It was a dark and stormy night. Mother Robin deposited four shiny light blue eggs into the bottom of the nest. She settled on top of them to keep them warm. Father Robin sat on a nearby twig.
Morning came, with clearing skies and the promise of a bright new day. The warm wet turf below was redolent with spring fragrances. Mother Robin wriggled over the eggs to better feel their smoothness against her rump. All was right in the world.
Tweets was the last of his clutch to hatch. His brother and two sisters were several days out of their shells. They already has eaten delicious meals of regurgitated worms which Mommy and Daddy had gathered for them.
Tweets was fortunate. He was hatched on a sunny day, so his baby fuzz dried quickly. He was completely dry when Daddy robin approached the nest. At once Tweets began fluttering and squawking wildly. Daddy dropped a fat worm into his gaping beak. It felt so good - squishy and squashy in his otherwise empty tummy. "Life sure is a blast," he thought.
All went well in the nest in those early days. Mommy and Daddy were an efficient delivery system and each day saw the young ones losing their fuzz and replacing it with feathers. At last, his elder brother, Rusty, was ready to fledge.
Rusty stood on the edge of the nest and jumped. This didn’t look very safe to Tweets and he had no desire to try it himself. Moments later Rusty landed awkwardly on the edge of the nest. He was panting heavily.
"It was great!" chirped Rusty when his breath returned. "I can’t wait to get out again."
"That’s enough for today, Rusty," cooed Mommy robin. "Maybe tomorrow Twitter and Flutter will be ready to try. You can show them the ropes."
"What about me?" cried Tweets.
"You’ll be ready in a few days," peeped Mommy robin.
Tweets thought this was for the birds, but he had no choice. His feathers just weren’t ready yet.
Next morning Twitter and Flutter fledged. Daddy robin decided to take the three eldest for some fun. "C’mon kids. I’ll show you how we decorate windshields."
A few days later Tweets knew he was ready. He hopped onto the edge of the nest and jumped.
"Use your wings, bird brain," called Rusty.
"I know," peeped Tweets as he flapped his wings and began to soar. His landing was less than graceful, but what do you expect on the first try. Tweets was happy - exhausted, exhilarated and happy.
Time passes quickly for young birds. There’s so much to learn. What’s good to eat. What animals are dangerous. How to bathe in puddles or dust patches. The seasons sped by until again it was spring.
Now Tweets felt a strange tingling. "I need a mate," he thought. "I’d better stake out a territory."
At once he began singing loudly. "That’ll bring in the girls and warn away the guys."
The next day, singing loudly, as he was perched on a limb next to the house in the center of his territory, he spied another male robin looking at him. Strangely this robin was silent.
He made a threatening move toward it, and at the same moment it made a similar movement toward him. He called menacingly at it, but the interloper remained silent.
They were now only an inch apart and Tweets decided to peck at one of its eyes. As he did, the other robin pecked back so that the two beaks met with equal force. Again and again Tweets tried, but each time his thrust was parried. Then Tweets mustered all his strength and bumped against the stranger, hoping to knock him off his perch. The stranger bumped back with equal force, almost knocking Tweets to the ground.
For hours Tweets contested with the stranger. Finally, exhausted and hungry, he broke off the encounter. As he searched for and found food, the stranger was nowhere to be seen. Tweets began to think he had prevailed. Next morning he went back to his perch adjacent to the house and began to sing. Almost at once he spied the silent stranger and their battle began again.
In a contest between robins, winning is best. Losing is second best. But a tie is traumatic.
Tweets became neurotic. He began to suffer from acute depression. Each day seemed like one long dark and stormy night. The stranger showed signs of similar affliction.
As we all know, the state of robin psychotherapy is primitive at best, nowhere near the advanced condition of the quack nostrums for ducks.
Tweets never found a mate that spring. "My life’s been blasted," he thought. The truth is, with robins as with humans, we are our own worst enemy.
