Monday, May 17, 2010
So now whenever Julie or I leave the house we are met with an angry chorus of caws and a rain of small twigs and other debris from above. There is no way to tell the adult crows that we were only trying to help, and that their offspring have a much better chance of survival now that they are not 10 steps (or hops) away from paved instant death. It is a classic case of misunderstanding, but one with an interspecies twist. Fortunately, crows are not capable of breaking off large enough branches to do any real damage when they drop them on our heads, so the barrage from above is more amusing than dangerous. And to be honest, since I regularly drive my car and am in part responsible for creating the danger away from which Julie and I were moving the baby crows, perhaps I deserve a twig or two dropped on my head to remind me of the impacts of my choices on the wild creatures around me. All I know is that as I sit here and write this I can hear the familiar, turkey-like noise of a young crow being fed by his parents coming from the cedar tree in my back yard. That is worth far more than any inconvenience having a twig or two dropped on my head could possibly cause.