[Critique Group 1] Leonard's piece and belayted reminder

[tuchyner5 at aol.com]

Hi Group 1,

 

First my apology for missing the submission date and the reminder a bout the submission date. I was distracted by some health issues, but I’m back on track.

 

Martia, of course we will be glad to critique your collaborative piece. Please get it in as soon as possible so we will have time to go over it.

 

Sally, will you be able to submit a piece?

 

Leonard

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A Robin’s Fortune

by

Leonard Tuchyner

825 words

 

 

In late April, my wife, Diane, and I were passing by the backyard shed, which is ringed by 14-feet-high privet bushes. Suddenly, there was a frantic fluttering of wings, as a robin burst out of the upper reaches of one of the bushes. This wild flight was accompanied by a desperate warbling sound. My immediate thought was that she had launched herself from her egg-bearing nest, making all the noise she could to distract attention away from her eggs or brood.  My suspicions were confirmed a moment later, when Diane spotted the nest.

 

For the next several days, as I passed the shed, the distracting flight could be counted on. I looked forward to it, because there was something reassuring about it. As long as Mama Bird was there on the alert, all was right and secure in the world.  There were occasions when there was no startled flight reaction. That didn’t concern me, because no one stays home all the time. On the next occasion of my passage, I was usually rewarded by her performance.  It also occurred to me that my presence might have lost some of its original threat.  But when several days in a row had passed without any sign of the robin, I began to worry. Consequently, I asked Diane to come to the nesting bush with me, since I’m legally blind and her vision is quite sharp.  I asked her to scan the nest area to see if she could still locate the robin’s nest.  What she found was heartbreaking.

 

In amongst the weeds, beneath the privet, was an adult robin’s body.

 

Of course, my concern then was how she died. There were many possibilities. The first suspect was my dog. Barney, a forty-five-pound mixed breed, is a natural and competent hunter.  The nest was far above his reach, but I could imagine him barking at the robin who was guarding her eggs or chicks. As a one-time keeper of birds, I knew that many of them are brave beyond their own safety, especially when protecting their family. I remembered one beloved conyer trying to fly down the throat of a rival family dog. Unfortunately, the dog’s reflexes caused him to chomp down, which ended the conyer’s life instantly.  It was easy for me to picture this robin mother diving down at Barney and getting too close. But there was an inconsistency in this scenario.

 

Every time Barney had caught an animal within the confines of his large backyard, he played with the body and ate it eventually. Several weeks earlier, he had managed to catch a bird about the size of a hawk. We know this only by the pile of feathers left behind.  The robin was lying directly under her nest. Her feathers were basically intact. This is not Barney’s modus operandi.

 

However, I have no doubt that the killer was a predator. It was probably after the chicks or eggs. Snakes are one possibility. I know that in my Central Virginia back yard there is always a snake within throwing distance. We had a resident black snake for several years. His name was Horace.  Eventually, Barney made life too difficult for him, so he moved to our next door neighbor’s yard.  Now a younger snake has moved into Horace’s new territory, and no one has seen my old friend Horace for at least a month. Anyway, snakes are likely suspects.

 

Raccoons could also have done the killing. Barney is usually successful in keeping such varmints out of his yard. If it was a raccoon or other comparable animal, he might have been forced to leave the bird on the ground if Barney was under the privet waiting for him.

 

Birds of prey are also suspect. My dog could have deterred the hunter from claiming the adult fallen robin if she had managed to escape the predator’s talons in her death throes. Some animals might just prefer eggs or chicks to tough old birds. There are so many questions and no real answers.

 

I walk in my half-acre yard.  Out in the lake, which lies just beyond our property, are Canadian Geese, honking in their cacophonous way, and I imagine them as seasonal visitors from the North Country, who bring their family quarrels, love and dreams with them. Already, black butterflies flitter around the wild and cultivated blossoms. Several families of cardinals practically pay rent to be near my bird feeders. We have our regular song birds, and those that just stop to spend a few days or weeks. Possums that Barney kills over and over again look for handouts, while squirrels play life-and-death acrobatics, taunting Barney, just for the fun of it. Perhaps they, more than most, understand the beauty of life. They revel in the turns of fortune, taking risks and loving the game.

 

I am there, playing the same game of life. And I say to myself,  “What a wonderful world.”




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