I approach the berry canes with my empty bowl. A robin flees. "Hey, these are MY berries. Not yours. Stay away, birdie."
Twenty minutes of plucking. Then a squirrel in a nearby tree starts making a racket. Now, I don't speak fluent Squirrel, but I'm confident that the speech the squirrel was giving me was identical to the earlier speech I was giving the robin.
Tough noogies. I planted. I water. I weed. (Well, sometimes I weed.) I nab Japanese beetles to toss to their deaths in my soap-water bucket. Let the squirrel be angry that I'm harvesting the berries before him.
Mmmmm, raspberries on my granola. Mmmmm.