Drunk Robins

A couple of weeks ago, Ellie and I were sitting on the couch when we heard a loud bang against our patio door. I went over to inspect and found a robin standing dazed out on the porch. It teetered around, and stumbled into the brush where it could hide for awhile. Apparently she had tried to fly through our patio door and out the kitchen window. I watched her for awhile to see if she was o.k., then went back to Ellie.
We soon were eating lunch, and Ellie was pointing outside at all the other robins bouncing around the yard. Some were hopping from branch to branch in the tree, some were bobbing around the edge of our garden trying to scare up some grub (ha ha, get it? Birds eat grubs, you know, in the ground...oh whatever.) It was really cute, watching Ellie aspiring to be a young bird watcher like her Dad and Papa. All the while she was saying "tweet tweet" and doing the sign language for "bird".
Without warning, another loud "thump" caught our attention as the same robin had just bounced off the patio door again. She stumbled back under our lavender bush, just sitting there looking dazed. "What is wrong with that robin?" Andrea and I were asking ourselves. The other robins were kind of concerned too, as they kept coming over to check on her, then hopping away to keep a look out for cats and hawks that frequent The Shire.
Well, a few days later I was doing some paper work in the office, reading my recent edition of Bird Watchers Digest (yes, I really do get that subscription every year from my father and mother-in-law), when what should I stumble upon but an article on the American Robin, everybody's backyard bird. I started to read through it and soon found myself laughing out loud. My wife was probably wondering why I was laughing on the toilet, and thought it best not to ask.
After I was finished, uh, reading, I went out and told her what I found was rather funny. Apparently robins eat a lot of berries in the winter months. Well, we live in a subdivision called The Vineyard (aka The Shire), which is chock full of vines with grapes still attached even in December. According to this article, the robins will gorge themselves on these aged berries, and more often than not, get roaring drunk off them. Think about it--these grapes have been fermenting on the vine for months. A good handful would be enough to get any stout robin a little tipsy. And here we thought our little robin had just knocked herself silly against the window. No, she just didn't know when to say "no" to that last chilled grape, and what we thought were concerned friends checking up on her were probably giving her the look: "Oh, you young, foolish bird. When will you learn to control yourself?"
The picture is of the remnant she left behind--a feather memorial that serves as a warning to all other imbibing robins out there: "This is a glass door--be careful when admiring your reflection."