robin wars, round two

So, the Sponge Bob napkin ploy was a bust. Rather than scaring the deranged robin away, Sponge Bob's goofy face further enraged him. The robin's attacks increased in both number and ferocity. Sponge Bob now hangs in tatters from my windows while bird droppings pile up on my porch rail.
Other tactics I've tried:
--assaulting the bird with Windex (it just flies up into the nearest tree branch and mocks me)
--prompting Scout to bark at the bird (I let Scout out on the porch and sneeze, which sends her into a barking frenzy. The robin just hops back up to its branch and sneers at me)
--stomping around on the porch in my PJ's, yelling unsavory words at the stupid bird. (the bird is amused, I think, and my neighbors are beginning to wonder if I'm losing my mind--which I may be).

But yesterday, I think I hit upon the queen mother of all bird-scaring plans.
It's brilliant in its simplicity.

Krispin (my future son-in-law) proudly purchased a lobster at a thrift store the other day. It's one of those dreadful, motion-activated critters--any movement will send the hideous creature into gyrations and a terrible rendition of "Don't Rock the Boat, Baby."

The day we brought it home, Krispin and I were evidently having too much fun with it, because Greg removed the batteries in mid-song. But by then I'd hatched an incredible plan. After Greg left for work, however, I replaced the batteries and strategically positioned old lobster lips on the porch rail, next to the robin's favorite spot. Not five minutes later, the robin landed and the crustacean began to croon.

I haven't seen my feathered friend since.

Unless Robin suddenly develops a taste for very bad disco music, I think the battle of the bird may be over.

But you never know . . .