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Robin

Robin

I thought you might like this picture of our Robin, rather than the silhouette we had the other day – to go with the promotion of his latest recording. He’s a bit old fashioned and relies heavily on public performances and personal appearances. He doesn’t believe in using the Internet and all that modern kerfuffle, to push his latest and greatest.

He spent his early years helping out the Norse God Thor as a storm bird, later here in the UK at least, he was called various corruptions of Redbreast, such as Ruddock or Robinet. He has always worked in agriculture. Before people understood the importance of turning over the soil, he used to hang around with Wild Pigs. Wild Pigs, you know, can do more environmental damage and destruction just having breakfast, than an open cast mining operation in East Europe does in a year. As a mitigating factor though, Wild Pigs may have an ear for music. Then people started digging things up too. Though perhaps not as efficient at environmental damage as the Wild Pigs to start with, we soon learned, and the Robin changed his allegiance.

The Robin is not strong on long-tern planning. He is inclined to defend his territory, even against females for most of the year and he merely tolerates a female during the breeding season. So he has to go through all that courting stuff every year.

Even humans have realised that it is more efficient to go through all that hassle as few times as possible.

Birds of a Feather

Robin

Robin

Houston, we have a problem. You see, these last few days we quite definitely have autumn in the air. Spring is full of suppressed emotion as everything is busy getting dressed up for their first grown-up dance. The air is heavy with anticipation. Will the object of our fixation be in attendance? Will we be able, at the critical instant, to pluck up the courage to speak? Will they have the courage to answer? It is all so full of promise, so full of angst.

Autumn on the other hand, brings with it a different kind of excitement. Big changes are coming and everyone is old enough to appreciate them this time. Summer, so full of the stresses and pressures of modern life, the constant need to be somewhere, do something – or to be back home in time for whatever is next on the agenda is, thankfully, over. The children have either flown from the nest, the seed-head or they are just about ready to drop off the twig. It is a time of plenty, a time to refill the store cupboard. A time for some ‘me’ time.

Which brings me to the Robin, who defends our garden from his station in the Silver Birch tree by the gate, he has started singing again. The problem, of course is that people in America have a different Robin to us. You guys have a kind of thrush – ours isn’t. I’ve made a recording of our Robin singing – you’ll find it at the end of the post.

Does it sound anything like yours?

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