Mama Robin has worms for her baby, the last baby to leave the nest; but she can see me through the glass of the front door, and she's worried. She's voicing her scolding chirp, never mind the fact that her beak is full of worms. Watch her look at me... at her baby... at me... at her baby...
I backed away from the door, and eventually she decided it was safe to go to the nest, where baby robin isn't actually in the nest, but perched right up on the very edge of it. Now and then he tries out his wings, nearly goes airborne, frightens himself, and hurriedly scrambles back into the nest.
Meanwhile, a common grackle has landed on the other side of the cedar tree. It's a hot, hot day, and he's panting.
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