A place for the birds

Now for something completely different.

On my infinite list of reasons to avoid cleaning the shed, the presence of a robin and her chicks has taken the No. 1 position.

I’ve been calling the bird Rob8, a nod to my grandson, who is nearly 4 and has been heard to announce that he likes to be addressed not as Robbie, but as Rob7, because it’s his favorite number.

Rob8 moved in amid the junk and debris not long ago, constructing a nest that is a perfect circle. Geometry in nature.

I didn’t even notice the nest or its occupants until I was dive bombed by Rob8 and looked around. There are a lot of what might be called collectibles in the shed.

After discovering the nest, I taped a tiny wireless camera on the shelf above to spy on the occupants, who can be seen below. There were three chicks and a blue egg Thursday, under the watchful eye of Rob8.

The camera allows me to time visits to the shed to moments when the robin is gathering food, which seems to take many hours a day.

When she returns to the nest, the chicks know instantly that it’s chow time. Their heads shoot up as if released from a coiled spring and they jostle for position in wide-mouthed amazement, orange gullets competing for attention. After several seconds they know when to quit asking.

I know nothing about birds, but I do marvel at the power of instinct.

It’s amazing that the robin knows exactly how to build a nest, keep the chicks warm and fed, while paying no heed to the extension cord, the light bulb, the empty caulk gun, a piece of wood and all the rest.