The Happy Camper: Some Robins Forced Me to Get a New Canoe
The day started innocently enough.
Spring had finally sprung and as the early morning coffee brewed in the kitchen, I let my dog Angel out for a piddle. That’s when I saw them—a pair of robins flew under my overturned canoe stored in the backyard, each with a beak full of grass and twigs.
Ah heck, they were making a nest on the stern seat of my 17-feet prospector, the same canoe I had planned on using for my first canoe trip of the year the first week of May. It was supposed to be a quick excursion into Algonquin park in search of some feisty brook trout, something I have done annually for decades. The trip was scheduled in two weeks’ time. Robins don’t fledge their nest until early June. What a dilemma.
My partner Kristine came downstairs when she heard the coffee was ready. She asked what the heck I was doing gawking out the back window. I informed her of the issue at hand, and true to character, which is why I love her so, she demanded I did not use that canoe until the robins have finished making the nest, laid their eggs and the brood fledge to explore a brand new world.
I agreed with her values. I would have never moved that nest. But the comic side of me ended up turning my video camera on and recording her insights on the matter, along with a bit of banter from me. I labelled the robins the “parasites of the sky” and “a dime, a dozen.” Why not destroy or remove the nest, I asked.
The reel was posted almost instantaneously on my social media, and we poured our morning coffee.
An hour later, the robin nest video went somewhat viral. Dozens and dozens of people chirped in their feelings. Some gave me tips and tricks on how to remove the nest. Others laid out laws on why it’s illegal to remove it, and a whole lot of others praised Kristine for wanting to protect them. I had a typical male juvenile response and said I’ll just have to get a new canoe to replace it then. After all, why wouldn’t I use the robins as an excuse to get another boat? Kristine agreed, and I was darn okay with that. I looked straight in the camera and begged my friends at Nova Craft Canoe to come to the rescue—and they did!
I am now borrowing a 17-feet Bluesteel prospector canoe from them until the robins fledge. What an amazing canoe community we have, and I am fortunate to be a part of it all. This was no publicity stunt, honest. It was all organic and I loved every minute of it…and so did the robins, I’m guessing.
To me, the robin nest issue had a bit of a Peter Singer zeal to it. It was something my daughter reminded me of the day before, when she sent me her last written assignment before graduating from her university’s English Literature degree. Top marks, by the way…way to go, kid.
To quote from her essay:
“We All Breathe: An Investigation into the Rights of Non-Human Species.
As a society, we hold the ingrained illusion of species superiority which fuels our greed and hubris, allowing the false belief that we as human beings are more deserving of ethical and moral treatment than non-human animals. Thus allowing us as a specie, to blindly limit and harm the rights of other cognisant, living beings. Singer states, ‘the point about ethics is that, rather than just thinking about our own interests, we have to put ourselves into the position of others.’ Beyond acknowledging others and their lived experience, this quote presents the idea that we are all equally alive. Our actions affect those around us, including the species that live alongside us.”
My daughter continued to divulge a personal story that reflects on my robin nest dilemma.
“I once caught a mouse in a sticky trap. A trap that was advertised not to kill but to catch the rodent. It was not until I saw the trap and its effects for myself where I realized my mistake. I too am susceptible to human hubris, and I believed the mouse to be a pest in need of getting rid of. When I saw what I had done in the light of day, I realized my mistake. Laying on a patch of glue was a tiny living, breathing being, not much different than myself. The mouse laid there, fur off its body and skin soaked in glue, legs broken, forever unable to move. I took the trap and the mouse attached to it outside to the backyard and placed it gently. While I looked at what I had done, I saw the mouse release its bladder. It had soiled itself in fear just as I would have. I had put myself in its perspective and suddenly realized my horrific act. It was just as alive as I was. I buried the mouse and gave it a gravestone. I even poured a beer out on its grave for my family tradition at burials. We as humans are so blinded by our superiority complex that we forget that we are not alone in this world. The animals we treat with contempt and disregard show the same fear at the face of danger and subsequent death. We are obligated to reconsider our actions and treat these species with respect.”
Very proud of you, Kyla Callan.
So far, the robins are doing well. The nest is fully constructed, and the lovebirds are engaging in the act of making babies on a regular basis in the backyard and I expect some six to seven bluish eggs to be laid soon. But according to Google, robins have multiple nests and multiple broods. Even a pair of chick-a-dees are now using a nesting box we hung over the canoe. All is well in what I am now calling our backyard The Zoo That Never Was, after naturalists R.D. Lawerence’s famous book.
And I got a new canoe from Nova Craft to borrow for a bit this season. Maybe they should raffle it off for a good cause at the end, like to a wildlife rehab centre or an organization that saves wild habitats. That would be cool.
To quote my daughter once again:
“The mouse had entered my house and invaded my man-made habitat. The mouse entered my space the same way we as humans have entered theirs. All it was trying to do was seek warmth, and it was subsequently killed during this search.”
