Writing for life

Published in the WOW! supplement of the Evening Echo 13/02/2008

“Look dad, a Robin,” called one of the twins as we stood waiting for the school bus.

The object of her scrutiny was perched on the branch of a nearby ash tree. Head cocked on one side the little bird was watching us as intently as we were watching it. Suddenly it fluttered to the ground just a few feet away, pecked at a few crumbs, then hopped back up to its perch, where it continued its vigil.

Of all the birds that visit the garden (and there are a lot of them at this time of year) the girls have developed something of a special bond with the Robins. With their bright red breast, distinctive plump shape, upright stance and a tendency to sudden, jerky movements, these were the first bird they learned to identify, and will always be one of their favourites.

It’s also always around. While most of the other birds tend to come and go, you can’t go outdoors at home without seeing (and being seen by) at least one Robin. Rain or shine, winter or summer the Robins are around to add a splash of colour and song to even the drabbest day.

In fact, the Robin is the only Irish bird that keeps singing all winter long. There’s one that sings every morning without fail just outside the twins’ bedroom window. No need for alarm clocks, the Robin gives them their early morning wake-up call, and they’re usually out of bed and dressed for school before we stick our heads around the door to wake them.

Like some of our other garden birds, I think we tend to take the Robin for granted. They say familiarity breeds contempt, and that’s certainly true when it comes to this feisty, active little bird. Because we see them so often we tend to dismiss them out of hand, but watch the Robins in your garden for any length of time and you’ll soon realise that for all it’s familiarity the Robin’s story is a quite remarkable one.

Robins are fiercely territorial. The red breast and warbling song are used to establish and maintain territories that the adults defend violently against all comers. In winter males and females hold their own territories, and males in particular are very aggressive birds. They physically attack any rival who ignores the puffed-out red breast and warning song, and the territorial instinct is so strong that confused Robins sometimes lay in to other red items in the garden: things like red socks on the washing line or their own reflection in the car wing-mirror.

Robins start nesting early in the year – any time now in fact – and are notorious for nesting in unusual places: under old car bonnets, garden sheds, disused bookshelves, even abandoned Wellington boots. Normally though nests are built in a well-concealed hollow in a wall or bank. The intrepid parents can raise up to three broods of four to six young in one season.

That’s twelve to eighteen kids a year… no wonder the adults are highly strung!

One of the most endearing things about Robins is their bold, almost cocky nature. You can get closer to them than any other bird in the garden, and that’s a big plus when you’re introducing young children to the wonders of garden wildlife. The girls love seeing how close they can get before the Robin flits away and the game starts all over again. Strangely, this confident streak is peculiar to the Robins of Britain and Ireland – in other parts of Europe it’s a shy, secretive woodland bird that tends to stay away from people.

Take a closer look at the Robins in your garden, or the local park, and you’ll find there’s much more to them than meets the eye – and best of all the kids love them.

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