If you closely watch the birds in your yard and don’t subscribe to the idea that birds’ lives are free of stress and competition, you will become aware of many interactions, some subtle and some overt. For example, just the other day, I was able to keep watch so well that I could interpret events which didn’t happen between two Robins.

The incident took place early one morning. I happened to be in the east pasture and watched as a Robin flew towards a grove of Poplar trees just down the road from the house. The Robin had a load of insects clamped in its beak, and as this was not the first time I’ve seen a Robin flying in that direction, I deduced there was a nest in the area. However, I had not yet taken a look.

The possible nest was rather near a Robin nest which I had confirmed. Built on the side of the workshop by a Robin pair I named the “yard Robins” this nest held three nestlings and was the focus its doting parents. The yard Robins claimed the yard early in the year and had already raised a successful brood. This would be their second batch of young.

As most Robins do, this pair had definite ideas about what constituted their nesting territory. They looked upon the yard, including all lawns and trees as their absolute domain, and would fight any intruding Robin to defend it. (The Robin that happened by with worms clamped in its mouth was not a “yard Robin” and the pasture edge it flew over, though close to the yard, was not looked upon by the yard Robins as their territory. Therefore it was not trespassing and managed to pass unchallenged.)

As the Robin with a beak full of insects disappeared into the grove of Poplar trees it screamed an alarm. Its loud and repeated “kleep, kleep, kleep” told me that something threatened the nest. The cry kept up, strident and serious, but I gauged the call to be less than the absolute disaster cry that a Robin is capable of emitting – an orange alert, not a red alert. I wondered what the trouble might be but I held fast to my chair thinking I might see a small hawk, or hear the chatter of a threatening squirrel. But, there was no sound or movement apart from the constant alarm call of the Robin.

It didn’t take long for the yard Robin to respond to the alarm call. The female Robin flew from the yard, crossed the road, and landed on the power line right on the edge of what I assume it considered its territory. It peered in the direction of the alarm call, tail raised and body snapping with nervous energy. The calls continued and the yard Robin flew a little closer to the source of the sound. Then it stopped and listened. No doubt, the yard Robin heard a distinct alarm call but gauged it to be a code orange alarm. A code red, the highest possible, would allow the yard Robin to charge into the other Robin’s territory unchallenged and join in a brawl with whatever was threatening the neighbour’s nest.

This call meant there was trouble but not trouble of the caliber that allowed every Robin within earshot to come into another Robin’s nesting territory with all guns blazing. So the yard Robin sat and listened, alert but not daring to go where the trouble was, not as much afraid of the threat but of the reaction of the other Robin.

I never detected what caused the commotion but gradually the alarm calls tapered off and silence prevailed. The yard Robin flew back to the yard and resumed feeding her nestlings. A little while later the Robin across the road was back hauling insects as if nothing had happened. The yard Robin watched it warily, as always. Although these pairs of Robins are close neighbours; here in the ’hood nothing short of a dire threat makes them act very neighbourly.