Robins keep flying into our big windows at the office. It’s a little scary and sad at the same time. Some of them bounce off like orange-spotted pingpong balls and fly away. Others come to a permanent rest on our sidewalk.
It reminds me of the old Alfred Hitchcock movie, “The Birds,” when a young woman is stuck in a phone booth, with diving birds all about.
As an old guy who always enjoyed watching robins and other birds, the problem is a vexing one. Putting up a triangular sign, saying “PLATE GLASS AHEAD, ROBINS BEWARE” probably will not do the trick. It’s a huge window. There’s no way to cover it up during peak crash hours. But to go out the front door and scoop up dead robin after dead robin is not an option either. It “flies” in the face of our corporate mission to help people (and birds?) who have gotten off course.
As an owner of a multimillion-dollar publishing company, strategically solving this robin dilemma shouldn’t take up huge chunks of my work day.
But it is. Perhaps this is a sign of getting too old for the job. Or maybe it’s a good thing.