Byzantium's Shores: chronicling the misadventures of an overalls-clad hippie

In the Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom that is unfolding outside my patio door, the baby robins who are nesting in my hanging ivy plant are growing quite nicely. Now they actually look like birds, with feathers and wings which they are spreading. This is a nice change from the way they looked just after hatching, when they were basically three blobs of pink flesh with tiny beaks. They also chirp a lot when the mother and father bring worms and bugs and whatnot for them to eat. What surprises me is how soft their hungry chirping is; I figured three chirping baby robins would be a lot louder. As it is, we've got the patio door open and they're about eighteen inches from that door, but our TV in the living room can drown them out.

Today's funny development with the robins is that the babies seem to be getting a bit tired of their usual vantage point (having their mother's rump atop their heads). They're starting to push and try to stick their heads out, and the mother keeps hunkering down and giving an unmistakable scowl.

The unfunny development, though, is the way the parents dive-bomb us every time we actually attempt to walk out onto our own patio. I've tried pointing out that they are our guests and not the other way around, but they just don't see it that way. Or maybe they just don't understand English. I mean, it's not like robins are cats.