Born To Be Wy-iii-ld....

Remember yesterday's picture of the huge baby robin in the nest in our back yard?

Baby R. gots some new game.

He's punked up, grundge up his feathers, busted a move and flown the nest.

Turns out that while Baby R. (Or as he now calls himself: Raw) actually can fly, sorta, he really doesn't like the whole chasing down worms thing. He'd much rather perch on a patio chair and yell for Mom to come feed him.

(Mom's in the tree in your upper right hand corner of the above shot.)

So Baby R. is squawking, Momma Robin is yelling at him to get to work feeding himself, and Baby Hart is yowling that if only we would let him out NOW he could resolve this situation in no time flat.

We told Hart that we do not like cats with birdy breath, and that he and Tigs were both grounded until Baby R. figured things out.

(Tigs lifted his head from his nap with a questioning look like: Why are you dragging me into this? I don't want to go outside anyway. It is waaaay too hot out there for me.)

I'm shaking my head. Why are the young so careless with their appearance nowadays?

Given half a chance I bet Baby R. would be heading straight to the Tattoo Parlor to have some horrible graffiti inked on his ankle or something.

No, I don't know what Baby R's nest sibling is doing.

Probably laughing at his big bro's dilemma.

And still getting worms delivered hot and ready to his crib without doing any work at all.

Slacker Robins.

Poor Mom and Dad Robin.

They worked so hard to raise these kids right.

And this is all the thanks they get?

Pffsh.

Just be glad that it won't be long until you guys can at last enjoy being what all parent's actually enjoy in the end:

Being Empty-Nesters at last!