Don't mess with the crows
May. 19th, 2010 08:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jaunthieOne possible reason why my allergies have been hitting me so hard this week is that I spent a good chunk of Sunday working in the yard. (Then again, I've spent large chunks of most weekends recently out in the yard, so I really do think it's just "that week" of the year. And I'm much better today, thank all the listening powers.) It was a lovely Sunday for gardening, for the most part; not too hot, not too cold, and mostly not raining. I amended and planted the second raised bed, among other chores.
While working on the raised bed, I noticed an unusual movement in one of the evergreens across the street. That's one of the trees that the local mated pair of crows and their extended family are prone to building a nest in (they come back every year and build a nest in one of four or five candidate trees, rotating every year), so I initially thought I might have caught a glimpse of a stealthy crow nestbuilding or feeding the younglings or something. Except it seemed like an awfully *big* movement. So I paused in digging in the compost and worm castings, leaned on my shovel, and stopped to watch more carefully.
Just about then, the local crow population went nuts. One or two shrieked a warning, followed by a battle cry as two or three dove for that particular tree. Within seconds - and I'm not exaggerating, it was *seconds* at most - not only was every member of the resident family on scene, but every local juvenile in hearing range was burning the air as they mass-winged it towards that tree, calling at the tops of their lungs. Crows came from everywhere, all fighting mad. (We have two kinds of local crows around here: the established nesting pairs, usually with at least three or four last-year's fledgings helping guard their territory and take care of this year's brood, and big mobs of juveniles who come in from the surrounding countryside and hang out in teenaged gangs until they're old enough to pair up and go find territory of their own. The former are great neighbors; the latter are like teenagers everywhere, and regularly cause trouble when they're not being cute.) But there was only one kind of crow at that moment: a fighting, attacking crow.
The branches swayed under the impact of crow bodies and something else, and then the bald eagle that had been poaching the crow nest half-fell out of the tree trying to wing its escape, crow nestling still clutched in its claws. It could barely fly even before half-a-dozen crows hit it from all directions. They continued to mob it with no regard for their own safety, and it quickly dropped out of sight. I have no idea if it got away or not, at least not without dropping its victim, which of course was part of what the crows wanted.
The commotion continued for quite a while, as crows kept showing up, flying around and calling alarm and watching out for any possible return of the intruder. And I was reminded once again why I love crows. Crows are highly intelligent, social, cooperative birds, full of 'tude and turpitude. They are cool. And yeah, they are definitely not to be messed with.
While working on the raised bed, I noticed an unusual movement in one of the evergreens across the street. That's one of the trees that the local mated pair of crows and their extended family are prone to building a nest in (they come back every year and build a nest in one of four or five candidate trees, rotating every year), so I initially thought I might have caught a glimpse of a stealthy crow nestbuilding or feeding the younglings or something. Except it seemed like an awfully *big* movement. So I paused in digging in the compost and worm castings, leaned on my shovel, and stopped to watch more carefully.
Just about then, the local crow population went nuts. One or two shrieked a warning, followed by a battle cry as two or three dove for that particular tree. Within seconds - and I'm not exaggerating, it was *seconds* at most - not only was every member of the resident family on scene, but every local juvenile in hearing range was burning the air as they mass-winged it towards that tree, calling at the tops of their lungs. Crows came from everywhere, all fighting mad. (We have two kinds of local crows around here: the established nesting pairs, usually with at least three or four last-year's fledgings helping guard their territory and take care of this year's brood, and big mobs of juveniles who come in from the surrounding countryside and hang out in teenaged gangs until they're old enough to pair up and go find territory of their own. The former are great neighbors; the latter are like teenagers everywhere, and regularly cause trouble when they're not being cute.) But there was only one kind of crow at that moment: a fighting, attacking crow.
The branches swayed under the impact of crow bodies and something else, and then the bald eagle that had been poaching the crow nest half-fell out of the tree trying to wing its escape, crow nestling still clutched in its claws. It could barely fly even before half-a-dozen crows hit it from all directions. They continued to mob it with no regard for their own safety, and it quickly dropped out of sight. I have no idea if it got away or not, at least not without dropping its victim, which of course was part of what the crows wanted.
The commotion continued for quite a while, as crows kept showing up, flying around and calling alarm and watching out for any possible return of the intruder. And I was reminded once again why I love crows. Crows are highly intelligent, social, cooperative birds, full of 'tude and turpitude. They are cool. And yeah, they are definitely not to be messed with.
