The saga of Batman (not Robin)- feed me, I'm yours!

The boys gave each other a bath.

I am ready for my baby to leave the nest. But he won't. This is the ongoing tale of a retired teacher, with many years in special education, unable to teach an abandoned robin to feed himself!

As an adoptee myself, I understand the importance of taking in strays. My (adoptive) grandmother, Anne Butt, AKA Nanny, fostered over 200 teenaged girls in the 40s.

Back to the present:
Most days we start  in the Muskoka Room.
Feed cats, feed goldfish.
Coffee, the newspaper. All is good.

My sore foot needs to be raised a lot and iced. (Caitlin painted my toenails for me. I managed a pinched nerve in my neck!)  Buster and Felix nap between my feet.

Buster fell asleep on JB's arm!

We sit looking out over the back lawn, birds chirp, some fly by. We encourage Batman, "Watch, now. That's how you do it!"

After a big play, Buster decided to get on top of Batman's cage.

I figured out that the mop handle made a great perch. He took no pleasure in flying. He sure did want to be up high. The other option is for him to fly to the top of my head. This one is much better. He does poop (proper term is vent!) over the edge of his perch, from his cloaca. Very neat. Except for the stuff below. Lots of newspaper is called for.
In zoological anatomy, a cloaca is the posterior opening that serves as the only such opening for the intestinal, reproductive, and urinary tracts altogether.

You know how cats and dogs always seem to lick their bums? So do birds...

I took him outside, and plonked him in the planter. We sat for awhile, the kittens played.

He took a flying leap off of the planter, and flew up onto the roof. Again.

This time I knew he'd be back. We decided to go out and visit the Perth Open Doors  (churches built in the1800s), as well as the Tay Valley outdoor art show. More photos there!

Meantime, back to Batman. He flew up onto the roof, and into the tree. Leaving him be, we returned in a couple of hours. Yesterday he flew over to JB. I found him on the ground. Reluctant to eat the worms I'd left him.

He's a Lanark Robin. He sat by the Lanark County-style fence.
(He's hiding on the ground!)

When we arrived home he was sitting, pretty pissed off, on the front porch waiting for us. Chirping loudly. He came right over to me and had a feast.

He's about 3/4 the size of a full-grown robin. Lord knows how long we'll have to feed him. He's begun pecking at the ground, tried pulling on the broom bristles.

Roots and wings...that's what we give our children. Even the ones we adopt. That's the embroidery my adoptive Mom made for me.

Whaddya mean, old worm. I want grapes!

Hubby bought Batman some strawberries, in addition to the grapes and worms from the bait shop. Berries are 1/2 their diet. (He let me have some berries, too.) At least he spoils the grandkids!

Poor old Batman. He pecks at the worm, but he's out by several cms. With one eye wonky, he's having trouble picking up the inch worm. Sady (hubby's cat) found it for me! She was thinking about eating, but prefers her special hypoallergenic, $2 /can, cat food!