Well, this morning unfortunately was Round 3 for the red robin and the homeowner, a/k/a “me”. Last week I wrote about my annual Spring feud with a particular robin who insists on building its nest in the elbow of my front or side porch lights. In an effort to put a kibosh on the robin’s version of “home sweet home”, I have resorted to stuffing bags atop the bend until long into June. It thwarts the nest building, but it also trashes up my house, but I’m willing to live with the silly-looking bags, so that I don’t go out the front or side door and have mud or grass fall down on my head, or muddy plops of grass landing on my mailbox lid. This annual feud has been happening for decades. I suppose getting rid of the light would be one solution, but the colonial-style lamps enhance the house – and besides … whose house is it anyway? I didn’t even write about Round 2, which happened Saturday morning. The wadded-up bags I stuffed in the front light earlier in the week, must have been trampled down by the robin and he used them as extra cushioning to build a bigger and sturdier nest. Grrrrrr. Well, I knocked it down as he watched me, clearly irritated, from the split-rail fence … in fact, he was so irritated with my actions that he dropped his long piece of dry grass to chatter a few choice words at me. (Not that I speak “robinese” but I got the drift, believe me.) I grumbled right back at him. I secured the bag in place, knotted it on the top of the coach lamp and soon was on my way to Wyandotte. He looked astounded and I figured he’d scout around for another place to build his next nest. Unfortunately, the 60 mph winds on Monday knocked the bag out of place and exposed the remnants of the very first nest, so he seized the opportunity to rebuild his home that the nasty human had repeatedly sought to destroy. I went out this morning and the bigger bag I had so carefully placed into the elbow of the lamp was knocked forward and a bigger and better nest was in its place. Sigh. I took a minute to admire his handiwork, but then opened the garage door, grabbed the broom and pushed the bag back in place, feeling the entire time like the big, bad bully to birds that I certainly was. Don’t get me wrong – I love nature, I love animals and I love birds … after all, I live with one and have had many, many pet birds over the years … but this is ridiculous. I’d have gone back into the house and got the camera to capture the image of his nest and my contraption, but I don’t want to sully this blog with such an ugly picture. Suffice it to say, my house wouldn’t be considered for House Beautiful – not even in Lincoln Park. As before, the robin was close by during this morning’s episode, and as I stepped away and closed the garage door, he went right over to check out my latest efforts. He quickly discovered he had nowhere to land, so immediately he alighted on his favorite perch, the corner of the split-rail fence. He shot daggers at me in between chattering and cackling and his comments were directed to me – there was no one else around. He wouldn’t or couldn’t possibly know that I was feeling like the biggest meanie in the world at that particular moment. I turned and walked away from him, feeling badly and wishing that he could have chosen another place to build his nest, then invite his mate to lay and sit on eggs, and subsequently feed their young until they were ready to set out on their own. I hope he finds a more welcome spot next time to start anew. I think he ought to join the Habitat for Humanity house-building crew because he knows how to put a home together in record time. Perhaps I should hum a few bars of “when the red, red robin goes bob, bob, bobbin’ along” to reinforce my message and get him to skedaddle?