“I’m never doing anything this stupid for you ever again.” My wife Dale announced this to me last summer as we peeled out of the driveway, late to catch a plane.
Blame the robins. A couple had built a nest and laid eggs in the rhododendron bush, inconveniently located for breeding and egg-sitting purposes between our back door and the garage – our noisiest and busiest possible location. Note to robins: you chose this neighborhood.
But forget the traffic and the noise. Another problem loomed.
Baby robins, we learned, don’t magically fly from the nests when they feel big and strong enough – about three weeks after hatching. Rather, the first time they try, they tend to fall and flop. If they land on soft ground, they get to try again. The basement metal bulkhead doors directly below our robins’ nest seemed to unduly diminish their odds, and Dale – having succumbed to my groveling and importuning – had driven that morning to Jaescke’s Farm Stand to pick up two bales of straw to spread over our bulkhead and the driveway.
“Never again,” Dale repeated....Read More of The last straw in one marriage