wild parenting

The robins are teaching their babies to fly. Apparently the best place for them to practise is across a cat-infested garden with a flat lawn from which they can't get airborne once they land, even when they manage to land right way up. We get to watch frantic parents waving beakfulls of fudz and cheeping 'Over here, dear! Just a bit further! Jump and flap!' while brown fuzzy pom-poms flutter, plummet, hop, flutter, fall over, hop some more... Yesterday, I had to rescue two exhausted chicks from the ground and plonk them higher up so they could get themselves away. Today, they seem to be doing a bit better. I think they hop into the bushes then climb up them by hurling themselves at twigs a couple of inches higher than they start from.

Kitties are grounded for the duration and complaining bitterly about missing the buffet. (Sadly they got one chick yesterday before I caught on.)

Frankly, I think mummy and daddy robin are a bit pushy and those chicks could have done with another quiet week in the nest to grow more muscles and feathers. Spider reckons it's all down to competitive pressure from other robin parents in the neighbourhood. I can't think where he gets these ideas.