Fear not, mama robin

I’ve got to hand it to this robin.
If I were she I’d build my nest in the same spot. The surroundings are colorful and upbeat. The location is out of the elements and safe from prowling cats and pesky squirrels. And the view is spectacular.
The only drawback lies with me, not her.
The nest is right in the middle of one of the hanging baskets on my front porch. The ones filled with two-tone, deep red and white ivy geraniums that I’ve lovingly watered, fed and dead-headed for the past month.
I could have destroyed the nest when I first discovered it, long before there were eggs, and now, chirping babies. But I’d never do that. This robin’s hard work takes precedence over whatever effort I have put in.
My wife and I talked about it and agreed we would not disturb the activities in this hanging basket, even if it means watching the geraniums die for lack of water and plant food.
And I have accepted the proposition that I’ll be cleaning a good deal of bird poop from the railing.
So why, I wonder, does this mother robin keep dive-bombing me every time I set foot on my porch?
It’s so easy to assume someone an enemy, even if that someone is not.

Ed Ackerman