LAURELTON -- Ever hear the one about the crazy, SUV-loving bird? Neighbors are laughing out loud over one Union County couple's cartoon-wacky problem.

Like most, Laurelton resident Jennifer Raup ticks through a mental checklist before she leaves her Meadow Lane home each day. Thanks to a never-say-die robin, however, her list is decidedly more strange.

Keys? Check. Purse? Check. Grocery list? Check. Removed robin's nest from left front tire?

Check.

Every day, rain or shine, a dogged little robin builds a nest on the Raups' green Ford Expedition, perching straw, mud, pebbles and other small items on top of one of tires. Every day, Jennifer Raup removes it.

But the bird refuses to give in, apparently undeterred by the dozen or so squashed nests already littering the driveway.

"It's like that movie Groundhog Day,'"‰" said Scott Raup. "There's always a new nest there."

The Raups have tried everything they could think of to rid themselves of the robin. They've removed the nests (the bird rebuilds), they've tried scaring it away (the bird flies back when they leave), they've tried moving the nests to other locations (the bird isn't interested in other locations). They've even tried covering the bird's favorite tire with cardboard (grudgingly, perhaps, the bird begins building on a different tire).

For the life of them, the Raups have no idea what it sees in their SUV.

"The only thing we can figure is we have a lot of wind, and the SUV has high wheel wells, so maybe it's a kind of shelter," Jennifer Raup hypothesized.

The truly strange thing, the couple said, is that the bird has its pick of other nearby nest locations. A line of tall maples border their residence, for instance. And if the robin really has its heart set on calling a car home, the Raups' neighbor owns an old pickup truck. It sits not 30 feet away from the couple's Expedition, and their neighbor never drives it.

The Raups admit they can only guess at the bird's motivation. No one they've talked to quite understands the quirky robin's behavior. They know, though, that after two weeks the novelty of their situation is beginning to wear feather-thin. "I'm at a loss," Jennifer Raup said.

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