Yesterday’s fledging of four baby robins born beneath my garage eaves was an all-day affair, with the first out of the nest shortly after 6 a.m., and the last still in at 7 p.m. But the straggler appeared gone when I awoke this morning, and I’ve seen Mom feeding two of the youngsters, one perched in a tree and the other in a shrub not far from the nest box.
Dad has been busy chasing off magpies who might threaten his kids; the magpies, I’ve noted, are busy chasing off squirrels who might threaten theirs.
It’s a treacherous time: Fledglings are inept fliers, vulnerable to all sorts of malice and mischief. As my eyes and ears acclimated to daybreak, I could see and hear, all around me, bird parents at work and on guard.