THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, April 21, 1995 TAG: 9504200180
SECTION: VIRGINIA BEACH BEACON PAGE: 07 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: Over Easy
SOURCE: Jo-Ann Clegg
LENGTH: Medium: 93 lines
A couple of weeks ago I wrote a column about the sorry state of spring in the house of Clegg. Back then Bill's cough, Charlie's hair balls and a pair of wrens nesting in my front porch wreath were making life miserable around here.
Well, Easter has come and gone, the temperatures have risen, the azaleas are blooming and our household has become the center of news which can best be classified as good, bad and downright awful.
The good news is that the wrens, Joe and his shrewish wife Marva, got into such a horrendous battle over the building and decorating of their nest that they either got a divorce or moved to another ZIP code.
The bad news is that Bill's hacking has turned into full-blown hay fever, Charlie's hair balls, mixed with bodily fluid of indeterminate origin, are being regularly deposited on the carpet, the hall floor and his favorite window sill.
The downright awful news is that while Joe and Marva have left the front porch, Hubert and Melanie have arrived on the deck.
Hubert, a youngish robin with few brains and absolutely terrible manners, arrived first.
Three weeks ago today he showed up on the deck screen pleading for asylum. From what, I have no idea. All I know is that he wanted in, in the worst way.
He spent most of his day flying against the glass door (feet, not head, first, mercifully). When he wasn't doing that, he could be found clinging to the sliding screen door or flying into the glass of the dining room windows.
Before, during and after these assaults on the house, he could be found doing what birds do best: depositing the residue of a high fiber diet on everything in sight.
His daily output made Charlie's hair balls seem insignificant by comparison.
I called my birding friend, Fred Adams, for advice.
``Short of calling in a hawk, I can't think of a thing you could do,'' Fred told me. The next day he called back.
``I've been reading up on the problem,'' he said. ``There are lots of documented incidents but no one seems to know why it happens or how to stop it.''
His one suggestion was to put a mirror on the deck to see if Hubert might have fallen in love with his own reflection.
I did. Hubert flew past the mirror repeatedly, stopping only long enough to add a few more decorations.
Each morning when I opened the blinds Hubert would greet me. Throughout the day I'd see him either clinging to the door with his bony little feet or hear him flying into the window glass.
Two weeks ago tomorrow I opened the drapes, came face to face with Hubert and yelled ``Get a life! Better still, get a wife and move to a nest!''
He looked hurt.
The following day, Sunday, I didn't see too much of him.
``Maybe he took my advice,'' I told Bill.
``I certainly hope so,'' he replied as he flipped through his home repair books for suggestions on how to clean bird droppings from screens and decks.
On Monday morning I opened the drape and Hubert greeted me. With a mouth full of straw.
``OK, buddy,'' I told him. ``So you've found a wife, you've done your thing, now go build a nest somewhere else!''
Once more, he looked hurt. More than that he looked determined. For more than an hour he tried to find a way to attach the straw to the screen.
Finally Melanie showed up, a patient little thing with large eyes and an apparently sweet nature.
Patiently she led him to a big pine tree. Hubert seemed to get the picture.
Just in case he didn't, I yelled a little encouragement.
``ROBINS DO NOT BUILD NESTS ON SCREEN DOORS,'' I yelled. ``THEY BUILD THEM IN TREES!!!!''
Melanie looked grateful for the reinforcement.
For more than a week now Hubert has flown by with nesting material in his beak while Melanie has offered gentle encouragement.
I still find him plastered to the screen door from time to time, however, and I still hear plenty of thuds as he crashes feet first into the windows.
I'm hoping that when the kids arrive he'll be so busy looking for worms that we won't see much of him.
On the other hand, my worst fear is that as soon as the little guys are big enough to leave the nest, he'll introduce them to the great sport of screen door hanging.
That's all I need for the rest of my life - an ever increasing family of robins attached to my screen door or racing at breakneck speed into my windows.
I just hope that the gentle Melanie has more control over her kids than Hubert does. I'd sure hate to have to call Fred and ask him to come up with an accommodating hawk. by CNB