That's not my robin...: 1

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world of roses one soft damp day and stood under the tree and called him for the last time. He did not keep me waiting and he flew to a twig very near my face. I could not write all I said to him. I tried with all my heart to explain and he answered me–between his listenings–with the "far away" love note. I talked to him as if he knew all I knew. He put his head on one side and listened so intently that I felt that he understood. I told him that I must go away and that we should not see each other again and I told him why. thrilled to the centre of my being. Here was some one who plainly had been intimate with robins–English robins. I wrote and explained as far as one could in a letter what I am now going to relate in detail. canny and called him "The Goblin Robin." No one had ever seen a thing so curiously human–so much more than mere bird. The causes of change are uncertain as detailed analyses have not been undertaken, but the number of fledglings per breeding attempt increased concurrently with the population increase, whilst survival measures were unchanged, suggesting that increased productivity is the most likely driver. Without stirring a muscle I began to make low, soft, little sounds to him–very low and very caressing indeed–softer than one makes to a baby. I wanted to weave a spell–to establish mental communication–to make Magic. And as I uttered the tiny

The next day summer rains kept me in the house. The next I went to the rose-garden in the morning and sat down under my tree to work. I had not been there half an hour when I felt I must lift my eyes and look. A littleI did not move of course, I was still and waited his pleasure. Not for mines of rubies would I have lifted a finger. The honest answer is that you can’t. Although male robins are on average larger than female robins some females will be larger than some males which means you can’t use the comparative size between a pair as a reliable guide. A female may be heavier when she is carrying eggs, but will still be smaller on average if you were to measure her body parts, such as her wings and tail.

Startled by the girl’s sudden change in tone, Bruce raised his hands in an attempt at placating her. “I’m sorry, I was simply… caught a little off guard. How could you tell?” Because of this first morning I knew–years later–that this was what Mistress Mary thought when she bent down in the Long Walk and "tried to make robin sounds." From that time each day drew us closer to each other. He began to perch on twigs only a few inches from my face and listen while I whispered to him–yes, he listened and made answer with chirps. Nothing else would describe it. As I wrote he would alight on my manuscript paper and try to read. Sometimes I thought he was a little offended because he found my handwriting so bad that he could not understand it. He would take crumbsA little girl who felt so comfortable with him that she was willing to put her safety in his hands. It was always strangely touching to see how much trust the children of Gotham were willing to put in Batman. They didn’t even know his name, and yet they were willing to put their lives in his hands. The last thing Bruce wanted was to betray that trust; to make this small child fearful of the man who was meant to be her protector. What do you do to make him come to you like that?" some one asked me a month or so later. "What do you do ?" adoring tenderness and he came each day a little nearer. At last arrived a day when asI softly left my seat and moved about the garden he actually quietly hopped after me. Then I knew he was a little Soul and not only a bird and the real parting which must come in a few weeks' time loomed up before me a strange tragic thing.

Its whole bearing was confidence inspiring. It made softly alluring–if unexplainable–sounds. He felt its friendliness and affection. It was curious to look at and far too large for any ordinary nest. It plainly could not fly. But there was not a shadow of inimical sentiment in it. Instinct told him that. It admired him, it wanted him to remain near, there was a certain comfort in its caressing atmosphere. He liked it and felt less desolate. He would return to it again. out of my hand, he would alight on my chair or my shoulder. The instant I opened the little door in the leaf-covered garden wall I would be greeted by the darling little rush of wings and he was beside me. And he always came from nowhere and disappeared into space.The pair sat on the fire escape for a few moments, watching the sun rise over the city sky-line. For a moment, Bruce was reminded of the many times he’d done the same with his sons. Things were peaceful, even if only for a moment. edgment of my harmlessness, had ever hopped and remained. Many had perched for a moment in the grass or on a nearby bough, had trilled or chirped or secured a scurrying gold and green beetle and flown away. But none had stayed to inquire–to reflect–even to seem–if one dared be so bold as to hope such a thing–to make mysterious, almost occult advances towards intimacy. Also I had never before heard of such a thing happening to any one howsoever bird loving. Birds are creatures who must be wooed and it must be delicate and careful wooing which allures them into friendship. That’s why I love robins so much. They live their lives right alongside us, simultaneously in full view and yet out of sight. Revealing the secrets of their fascinating lives does not diminish them – it just makes me realise how very special they are. As a friend of mine put it: “A robin is for life, not just for Christmas!” When I returned from the world of winter sports, of mountain snows, of tobogganing and skis I felt as if I had been absent a long time. There had been snow even in Kent and the park and gardens were white. I arrived in the evening. The next morning I threw on my red frieze garden cloak and went down the flagged terrace and the Long Walk through the walled gardens to the beloved place where the rose bushes stood dark and slender and leafless among the whiteness. I went to my own tree and stood under it and called. After that it was plain that he had discovered that the rose-garden was not all the world. He knew about the other side of the wall. But it did not absorb him altogether. He was seldom absent when I came and he never failed to answer my call. I talked to him often about the young lady robin but though he showed a gentlemanly

You can only do that with a tiny wild thing by being so tender of him–of his little timidities and feelings–so adoringly anxious not to startle him or suggest by any movement the possibility of your being a creature who could hurt–that your very yearning to understand his tiny hopes and fears and desires makes you for the time cease to be quite a mere human thing and gives

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He's doin' that to make us look at him," he would say. "That's what he's doin' it for. He can't abide not to be noticed." Perhaps so. He thought the rose-garden was the world and it seemed to me he never went out of it during the summer months. At whatsoever hour I appeared and called him he came out of bushes but from a different point each time. In late autumn, however, one afternoon I saw him fly to me over a wall dividing the enclosed garden from the open ones. I thought he