Our baby robins didn’t make it.
They sadly didn’t grow much beyond the naked pink creatures I showed you in my first post.
I honestly didn’t know whether to write this post or not. I’d love to be able to show you pictures of cute fuzzy chicks, or awkward fledglings, or even the nest abandoned since the babies learned to fly. However, that’s not how the story goes this time around. This blog is about cataloging our life in the country–the good and the bad. In this case, there’s not a happy ending.
For the first few days after they hatched, Mama and Daddy stayed close, feeding them and sitting on them, keeping them warm. But then something changed. Mama didn’t come back to the nest one night. Maybe she got spooked or got attacked. Temperatures were still too cold for the babies, and they died.
When I first saw the babies, I thought they were the most helpless things I’ve ever seen.
Even though it was too late when I realized Mama wasn’t around, I started thinking about things like heat lamps and eye droppers. But the reality is that as much as I’m compassionate about animals, I’m also a “let nature take its course” kind of woman.
Growing up with chickens and ducks and geese–many of whom we raised from eggs and then ate, and many of whom had their own ailments and injuries over their lives–gave me a somewhat unique perspective on animals. Farm living has refined my attitude even more.
Nature is amazingly wondrous and exceedingly harsh. This is a fact of life… and death… that I’m reminded of every so often.