Among robins, the female alone builds the nest,
gathering hundreds of scraps of mud, caking
them with twigs and grass, squashing it all into
shape by vibrating against it with her body until
the concave cup is molded into a suitable home,
while the male follows her on her endless runs
breathlessly until he tires of her endless industry
and retires to a sturdy branch nearby where he will
perch and sing quietly while she finishes the job.
Weaverbirds are quite the opposite, as the male
does all the heavy lifting, spending hours building
a nest of twigs and grass, and in a pinch, string or
twine salvaged from human sources, twisting and
knitting hundreds of pieces together to form the
perfect home before positioning himself outside
and flapping his wings to advertise his new place
until some interested female inspects and decides
if his house renders him worthy of reproduction.
Kingfishers, however, build their burrows jointly
both male and female, often near some desirable
body of water to raise their young, taking turns to
scrape and dig into some mud-bank six feet under
where they will dutifully raise the next generation
in unison without blame or excuses, resentment or
lawyers because when you build a home with your
own sweat and tears, you become invested in your
mutual future together, instead of collapsing alone.
