The 17th Robin Of Spring Chirps His Mind

Yeah, we finally flew in late last week. No sense rushing things when Spring Break's in full swing in Lauderdale (we're strictly east coast snowbirds; none of that noveau riche west coast frippery for us). Pelican Jack treats us real good. Doesn't break out the real good stuff until late in the season. Made our way up slowly, stopping off in the Carolinas to party with some blackbirds we met one crazy night in Pompano a few years back. Good God the hummingbirds in Wilmington are enough to make you give up flight. Gorgeous. The wife nearly broke my beak off one night just because I chirped at one.

So I'm the seventeenth robin this spring, hunh? Like I give a squirt. That early bird gets the worm nonsense? Right here, woodpecker. You ever taste a worm? Believe me, there's always more worms. And don't get me started on Rusty Williger, but since you did, here's what I think of Rusty Williger, the perennial "first robin of spring": an obsequious white-nosing preener. Everytime I fly by him (which isn't often, trust me; more likely than not I'm just getting back to my nest while he's up and at 'em and leaving his to put in some appearance somewhere) I flip him the human. That's what I think of Rusty Williger. You should see him down in Florida. It's just barely getting good and hot down there and he's tweeting all day about getting back north and heralding spring for all the goddamn humans. I've hardly got a base tan and he's packing up the nattering little Willigers and heading north to peck at everybody's window the first time the temp tops forty--"Look here, folks, it's me, Rusty Williger, the first robin you've seen in months; spring's a-coming!" Gag me with a twig. Let me tell you, folks, the "first robin of spring" is nothing but a marketing ploy. Poetry, my tail feather. Rusty Shilliger we all call him. I hear that behind his nest twigs he prefers to be called "The Muse." Show me an unmarked sliding glass door. The first robin of spring is nothing but a prudish, self-esteem deficient cold bird looking for some Cheerios tossed out a foggy back door.

Ah hell, that's enough grousing. I gotta build a nest or the wife's gonna have my breast for dinner. Spring's just a drawn-out tease. I can't wait for some really hot weather. Nothing's better than gorging on some tardy worms and looking for a convertible to bomb.