A pair of robins recently built a nest on top of a joist on my balcony, although Dad helped with the move and, apparently, a night of celebration, and was never seen again.

But Mom patiently waited in the nest, laid a clutch of eggs, and then waited some more until they hatched. I’m not sure whether there were three or four eggs. If there was a fourth, it didn’t hatch; I think the third hatched but, if so, that chick only lived briefly. The second chick to hatch lived only a couple of days, and the reason is that the first chick to hatch was, well, a berserk bully.

The loud, pushy jerk shoved past his sibling every time Mom flew up to the nest with a berry or bug, and even once #2 was no longer a factor in his life, Junior would still let Mom know when it was mealtime in no uncertain chirps. The temper tantrums grew with Junior’s meager abilities, and on day 5 of Junior’s young life, he threw a tantrum that had even Mom backing off in startled admiration as she edged away while Junior got in her face, screeching and gesturing wildly, with his otherwise useless wings almost knocking her off the edge of the nest. She got the point and zoomed to a nearby garden, bringing back a yummy worm.

Junior left the nest a day later; I woke up to find him on my balcony railing and, while I’m not saying Mom pushed him out, I bet no one would blame her if she did. He adorably hopped around my balcony for a few minutes, then tried to take off, but discovered his stubby little wings weren’t going to get him airborne. But they did help him float down rather than plunge, and he landed on one flat surface after another until he finally reached the ground. Godspeed, Junior.

August 4, 2026. Nikon D850 (FX sensor), Tamron 100–400mm at 400mm, f/6.3, 1/80, ISO 1,600.