I discovered that robins will wait in line to drink from a fowl tub. Mine is small so that they actually can’t collect collectively to drink. So, the way in which my robins behave is surprisingly well mannered. The large robin flies in, drinks his fill (19 beaksful — I counted) after which flies off. Subsequent up, the small robin. She — I’m fairly positive it’s a feminine — waits on the grass beneath the fowl tub. Up she flies and drinks (10 beaksful) and takes her go away. Not a fluke; I noticed it occur two days in a row.

That jogs my memory of Iceland. I used to be in Hofsos, a small city north of Reykjavik. Whereas sitting at an out of doors café, I watched the arctic gulls within the bay. I used to be informed the younger ones frolicked within the bay with its brackish, half salty, water in an effort to get used to residing on and within the salty water of the fjord and the ocean past the bay. As they amused themselves bobbing about within the bay, I noticed them dive bomb one another. I do know that’s what they had been doing. I noticed a gull zoom down over his buddy floating beneath within the water. As he buzzed by, the opposite gull ducked his head. You heard me. He ducked his head! I had this naïve notion that wild animals know stuff naturally. I suppose not. The buzzed gull feared he is perhaps slammed by the opposite fowl. So, he ducked. I might have thought he’d know that that might by no means occur; not in nature the place wild animals know the right way to do stuff proper. Apparently, not a lot.

Again to my fowl tub: I noticed a few finches and a chickadee or two fly in for a drink. They had been observing social distancing in their very own approach; they arrived one after the other – every taking his flip. I suppose the robins haven’t scared away the smaller birds as I feared they may have.

Subsequent up: the wrens. They haven’t appeared on the tub but however I do hear them singing their beautiful tune close by. Watch this area.