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| The robin |
The next day Mrs. Robin wearied soon, and disappeared into the leafy depths of a pongamia. She probably had a nest to ready for her eggs.
Mr. Robin spent hours attacking the window pane. We stopped at the window on our way up or down the stairs, drummed the window pane lightly, and baby-talked to the impervious dad. It was only when he rested between raging bouts that we noticed his broken right foot. It hung from a thread of skin to his leg. Every time he landed on the sill, we winced. Poor little guy. The pain obviously didn't deter his protective instincts to keep his territory safe before his chicks arrived. I wondered about how birds withstood pain; a stubbed toe can keep me inert for hours.
But he often flew into the trees, and perched on a branch tweeted his frustration. He probably reported to Mrs. Robin, that despite his best efforts, the threat was very much there.
We were busy settling in, and didn't observe when his foot actually fell off. Not dampened by his handicap, he continued to stare down the intruder who irritatingly drew closer, or flew into a rage each time he did.
We haven't seen him in a long while now. Maybe he finally realized his enemy had a missing foot, and was no great threat, after all. But it's more likely that Mrs. Robin sends the dutiful dad to fetch juicy worms for their hungry chicks.
