So yesterday I hear the freshly-fledged baby robins outside, and there's a shrill panicky sound I'm not used to from them. I go to check and a couple of little <explosion of unladylike words here> boys are chasing one of the babies around the building trying to catch it!
Oh hell no you will NOT!
So I snarled at them about the Migratory Bird Protection Act and how you don't have to be an adult to get in HUGE trouble with the Feds for harassing native wildlife, made sure they had scarpered off to whoever was supposedly responsible for them, and went to check on the bird that had been cowering in the far corner under the bottom step of the staircase that leads to my door. I found the bird in the front yard, thankfully undamaged. The birds in my neighborhood definitely know me by sight, and robins tend to be among the bravest when it comes to me and my camera.
This little guy actually hopped about two feet
toward me before I got this picture, then went about foraging in the yard as if nothing had happened. Finding out that a wild baby bird is sure I will not harm it has helped a surprising amount with how I feel about losing all my access to physical therapy
.