Crow

A few years back, we had quite a murder of crow that lived in our yard. They convened their meetings in the road, they watched us through the windows in the sun room, avidly taking an interest in whatever it was we were doing at the time. 

When Husband threw out stuff for them - bread, chips, popcorn - we could almost immediately hear the watchman caw out and then somewhere around a dozen would fly in. Some would eat there, some would fill their cheeks (do birds have cheeks?) to bulging and fly low and away. 

One of the crows in this murder was one legged. The others made him eat last, but always made sure he ate. Daughter named him Hoppy, because obviously that is what he had to do when he was traveling on the ground. 

That was the winter we had a snow, then another one two days later and then another one a day or so later. It amounted to eight or nine inches at our house, and did not melt quickly.

One morning we had not a dozen crows but at least two dozen and more coming in. Apparently one murder member had spilled the beans or a scout had been sent out. 

The next day Hoppy did not show up for breakfast.

I assume he was (ahem) murdered.

Daughter was pretty upset. I didn't like it much  myself.

The snow melted, the strangers went back to wherever they came from, and we were left with our original murder, sans one.

Now we only have three crows. And they are much smaller than the ones we have always had. 

I've watched them grow this summer, though, so I assume they were the youngsters from last years batch.

I don't know how long crows live, but it seems they all died out at the same time, and only three took nearly a dozens place.

They are smart but more trusting. They  land for food as soon as Husband gets back up the hill, not waiting for him to go inside, much less giving it a few to make sure he's not up to no good.

That's why I think they are the children of a previous generation. They grew up watching what Mama and Papa Crow did and think it's a-okay to eat here, without question.

If Mama and Papa did it, it must be the thing to do right?

Right?

Creepy Crows, Falling Cats, and Green Houses

There's a crow that's creeping me out.

He discovered the suet and is making our life miserable trying to keep him run off away from it. I found out that rushing the door, yelling "Hie, hie!" like my granddaddy used to do in a low, gruff voice, while clapping your hands scares them off.

Scares the neighbors, too.

But it makes them (the crows, and maybe the neighbors, too) dislike you.

Daughter and I were playing Scrabble on the back porch last evening and I started getting dive bombed by a crow. They are very large up close. If I had stuck my hand out over the banister when he flew by me cawing, I could have grabbed a wing. He did this twice, so I yelled at him. I could hear him cawing at me in the woods.

And then later, Daughter was downstairs by herself and heard a tapping at the back door. She freaked, trying to figure out who could have got to our back porch to be knocking on the back door. Our back door is up a winding set of metal stairs, under the lower porch, and the screen door stays locked. Plus,  you have to go down a steep bank to get to it. We have a back door mainly in case of a fire.

But since Molly wasn't barking, she decided to see for herself.

It was the crow, sitting on the porch floor, peeking in, and pecking at our back door.

Hitchcock, anyone?

This morning I went to the refrigerator to put up my gallon of lemonade. Eli, our Maine Coon fifteen pound kitten, was sleeping on top, as usual. I warned him I was opening the door, as usual, but somehow he lost his balance and fell. I caught him in mid-fall, his hind legs balancing on the shelf inside the fridge, my hand holding him under his 'armpit' while I tried to keep the door from closing on us both and searching for a place to sit a gallon of lemonade.

He held on for dear life, I got the lemonade set down, and rescued him from the inside of the fridge, putting him down on the floor.

His claw only embedded in one place, which shall remain nameless.

This afternoon we went to a greenhouse friends (?) told me about. I spent over fifty dollars. The young boys were asking me repeatedly if they could help me find something, all the time looking at Daughter. So I made one of 'em climb over a bunch of stuff and pull a plant down, telling him that was the one I had to have because it had so many blooms. (Insert smug look here).

So before bedtime tonight, I must check to see if the back door is secure, the cat is off the fridge, and my plants are all tucked in safely for the night.

Man, I love my life.

Things That Change Your Life

I've written short stories, poems and essays since I was ten. I always said I'd never write a book, I'm too impatient, I bore easily, blah blah. Of course, I wrote a book (or five).

But the first one, "Falling", helped me when I was still in such pain I was up much of the time during the night, unable to sleep or even lie still. So, I'd get up and type a chapter or a page or a paragraph.

Thank God a good doctor found a medication combo that helped me some, and I can (usually) sleep through the night.

The book still helps me in another way too, and that is people of all ages and both sexes tell me how much the book means to them. I am amazed, because I wrote it for young girls, high school and college age. And it is a simple book. But maybe not as simple as it seems.

I've been honking my horn so loudly about my three recent books, that I haven't mentioned "The Crow and The Wind" in a long time, either. A children's book that came from a dream. God stuff, that.

And my talented husband who can draw anything I can envision.

Pretty cool, huh?

They Act Like Us, Sometimes

I've seen animals do interesting things...things are are 'human like'.

I watched my cat, Angel do a very sweet thing. She got canned food every  morning, and our Bull Mastiff, Belle, looked longingly at her, from a respectful distance, while she ate. when Angel finished, Belle licked the plate.

One morning, I noticed Angel kept glancing over at  Belle. And when she finished eating, she left a bite. For Belle.

How do I know this wasn't just a coincidence? Because every morning after that, as long as Belle lived, Angel left her a bite. When Belle died, Angel went back to eating the whole plate full.

One morning I was sitting on my back porch, watching a squirrel in the road. He was eating something. Suddenly a big crow came out of the sky and ran him off and began eating whatever it was. The squirrel ran down the hill. But then I saw the squirrel coming back. He was behind the crow, sort of creeping along the edge of the hill. Suddenly, he jumped out, right at the crow and scared the heck out of that bird! The crow jumped and  squawked. The squirrel took another dive down the hill. But he got revenge.

Then there was the time I was cleaning up the kitchen and had some nasty water I didn't want to pour down the kitchen sink. So, I took it out the back door and threw it off the banister (The ground is two stories down). I heard a furious chatter when the water landed on the ground, so I peered over the edge. There was this tiny chipmunk, looking up, drenched. I swear he was shaking a fist at me and cussin' for all  he was worth!

A few months ago, we decided to load up three cats and take them all to the vet for the various upkeep things one must do for the darlings. Molly, our American Bulldog watched us do cat round up and put them in their separate carriers. They commenced choir practice in the foyer while David went out and opened car doors.

Now, Molly considers these cats hers. She hates other dogs, goes into kill mode if one comes near. But kitties? Well, she's smitten. She saw us begin hauling cat out the door, and at the last minute she almost knocked my daughter down getting out the door herself. Molly has NEVER done anything like this before. She ran to the car and got in! She refused to get out, even after David leashed her and pulled.

We weren't taking her cats away. Not without her. So, in a rather crowded P.T. Cruiser, we all went to the vet.

We had a Cockateil  for years. He was deep yellow, except for his two rosy cheeks. When out of the cage, he liked to watch my daughter color. She'd lay out the crayons, which  he like to pick up and carry around. And what color, do you suppose, he picked EVERY TIME? Yellow. Never failed. And yellow candy. Every time.

And of course I have stories about my dogs disliking some people for no obvious reason, but making me feel like I better be on guard around that person. And cats who don't like anyone much suddenly take a stuck like glue shine to someone because they are either: a. allergic to cats or b. hate cats.

My life is richer for sharing it with these critters. Makes me feel sorry for those who chose not to do so.