Corona Wildlife Diary: Day Eighty-three

Day Eighty-three

What I have often found interesting about the Back Garden Bird Race is the birds that don't turn up in your garden during the race hour. With so many Robins in my neighbourhood it was odd, and really annoying, that all of them managed to avoid my garden yesterday between 10-11. So I thought I'd dedicate today's diary to everybody's favourite psychopath.

Americans have chosen to align themselves with a mighty eagle. India have elected the elegant peacock. But we've voted an antisocial, aggressive, territorial ball of anger as our national bird. So just what is it about the Robin that the British find so endearing?

 
(Photo by Roger Wilmshurst)

OK, I can see that they are attractive. That famous orange-red breast, a flaming flash of feathers in a bland back garden of Blackbirds, sparrows and Starlings is certainly striking. Those disproportionately large eyes certainly give Robins a cute 'face', but they're useful for a bird which hunts for beetles and worms under bushes in low light levels.

And they're cheeky little beggars too. As we kneel weeding in the mud, they'll hop along hoping for a castaway worm. Elsewhere in Europe Robins avoid human contact and inhabit dark forests where they follow feeding boars as they dig in the soil. To a Robin, we're just big pigs in gardening gloves. 

(Photo by Dave Kilbey)

Surely the greatest coup that the Robin has pulled off is cornering the lucrative Christmas market. - especially considering the only other bird we associate with Christmas is beheaded and stuffed into an oven at gas mark 4. This Christmas connection is linked to the red tunic plumage of Victorian postmen. Robins were pictured carrying the post on the earliest Christmas cards and since then have joined Santa and snowmen as festive A-listers.

 
(Photo by Dave Kilbey)

Attractive, friendly and festive - everyone loves a Robin. Well everyone, it seems, apart from other Robins. Robins hate other Robins. They're highly territorial and, once invisible boundaries have been established, Robins will rule over their kingdom like feathered Führers. They'll sing their washing-line war cries from dawn to dusk or patrol the garden noisily tick-tick-tick-ing like a tiny timebomb. Female Robins are just as tyrannical and will also sing and scuffle - unusual amongst female birds. Robins will fight off other birds - no matter what colour;  but when a Robin sees red, it sees red. Robins will peck, scratch, batter and kick any other Robin that puts as much as a feather across the line. Behind that bright red breast, beats the dark heart of a ruthless killing machine. Fatalities are common.

 

(Photo by Roger Wilmshurst)

In the winter this front lawn turf war intensifies, but around Christmas there are subtle signs of a ceasefire. The song of the Robin becomes more hopeful and in the bleak midwinter something remarkable happens; Robins unexpectedly and temporarily fall in love. For a brief period courting couples can be seen feeding alongside each other. As we enter the New Year, this peace agreement ends and it's back to brutal business as usual. But these Christmas couples are now 'engaged' and will re-unite to form a family in the spring. 

(Photo by Roger Wilmshurst)

Right now Robins are busy feeding their young. For Robins it's a time to think of the future, a time for family and a time for fat, juicy worms.

Now we are moving out of these pandemic restrictions this is also a time for us to have some hope for the future and re-connect with family.

As for the worms? I'm sure we'll all be opening a whole new can very soon.