The robin is special to us here in Britain, our folklore is littered with references to this enchanting little bird and yet, despite its diminutive size, it is a real fighter, especially when confronted by another robin on its patch.
It is, of course, resident and there can hardly be a day in the year when a robin does not grace our garden. Perhaps a for a couple of weeks in August whilst it is moulting it becomes scarce but otherwise, there it is, helping with the gardening, checking out the washing on the line, looking over the apple tree to make sure it is one piece, making the sure the lid on the compost bin is secure, and singing from the top of the fir tree.
Not surprisingly it stands quite well in the top 20 RSPB garden birds at number 6; nearly every garden must have one but, of course, in small numbers.
It is the song of the robin that I find special, partly because it sings for ten months out twelve and for much of the autumn and early winter it is the only singing bird to cheer up cold, dark days. The other thing about the Robin's song is that from September it has a very wistful, almost melancholy, tone but as we get to February and the days are lengthening and the thoughts of spring loom so it becomes much more vibrant and jolly.
Thanks robin, life would not be the same without you.
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