It was just before dawn ,and a large flock of crows was holding a raucous argument in “Crow Latin”.I lay in the bed and listened.The scratchy” No,no,no” was the voice of Chicago,our beloved pet crow;the thin cries were from the wild birds. They were trying to persuade Chicago to go south with them to their winter roost.
The argument had been going on for almost a week.every morning at dawn The wild crow would descend upon our garden to talk to Chicago.And would each morning Chicago join the wild birds,fly east,then south and return to our kitchen window for breakfast.
All day he would stay close to us.but there was some thing different about the crow talk this morning.It was pitched higher.it was desperate. A decision was in the marking and this seemed to be the final hour. Chicago would either go ever,or be ours.I woke the children. They waited,watching at the window.
We first knew Chicago as one of five pale bluish eggs blotched with brown. they were in a nest 40 feet up in a pine tree.
My husband John,a biologist,had marked the eggs 1 to 5.Chicago was No 1.In 18 days Chicago’s one original cell divided and divided until it split up in top a crow an hatched.Both parents(who mate for life)tended the egg opening of the five birds,took the shells away ,stimulated the chicks by nipping them on the back of the head.that first day ,they feed the babies their weight in insects,spiders and birds’ eggs.
The days later Johan climbed the pine and took No 1,now banded with a red bracelet.he put the dusty,blue –eyed nestling in to my open hands.
We were going to study this bird,for good reason.
Crow and men have been at war with each other for centuries because crow compete for man’s food.
Consequently,crows have been trapped,poisoned,shot at and dynamited,and still their number seems to be increasing.So tricky are these trap-and gum-proof crows that if man is going to win the battle of wits,he needed to know the bird’s life history from egg to grave,plus all his reactions and behaviors.
As john handed me the nestling,there came from the dens needles above a melancholy crow voice: Ahhh huck The bird in my hands cocked his pin-feathered head and listened,then he stared at me.I had a feeling that the parents had spoken sadly to the stolen youngster,and I felt fro her sorry—but briefly.
For the youngster opened his mouth as wide as a steam shovel,and the first crow behavior I learned about is the birds appetite is the cause of man’s great problem.
Not only does the crow eat every thing ,but he eats enormous amounts.Chicago wolfed day and night.I could readily see how 10,000 of these creatures could wipe out a farmer’s crop in a day. In the months to come Chicago would pick the cutworms off the garden plants ,remove spiders from corners of the house and clean up scraps.Because of his food habits,I watched the wild crows more closely and realizes that they are a self elected sanitation department. They fly up the highways scouting for birds and animals killed by cars,and for refuse thrown out by people.
Of all the birds and beasts my husband and I have reared,the crow is by all the odds the most needle-witted and perspicacious. Chicago showed me the inner working of a crow brain one day,by out thinking me,then trimming his victory with chicanery.The table was gaudy with party with party treats for eight little girls:flowers,balloons,and nut-filled baskets.
I showed the drooling chicanery from the table twice before here tied to window –sill and gazed out as if he didn’t care a hoot of cashew nuts.But I knew he was coveting the nuts with the back of his eyes(he could see behind him)and i placed heavy cups over each basket.Then i went to the kitchen,humming smugly.When I returned,most of the baskets were on the floor and Chicago was swallowing nuts.
I was flabbergasted,for cups were still on the table.So I hide and watched Chicago winged to the table,took the handle of the mug in his beak and shoved it passed the edge of the table until the basket fell out from under neath.then he pulled the mug back to cover his crime! I pounced on him,gathered him up in his black-taffeta wings and threw him out of the window.I distinctly heard him laugh as he flew off.
One hot summer days our children would spray Chicago gently with hose.He liked this,and because we weren’t always attentive he worked out how to turn on the hose tap with spring it with his beak.Then he would walk along the hose until he came to the end.
This stroke of genius reminded me of Casey a crow in my childhood.Casey wanted to slide down cellar door with the children of his house,but his feet weren’t as slippery as their blue jeans and he couldn't get going.One day when a child slid a coffee-tin lid down the door ,Casey turned his mental wheels,picked up the lid,carried it to the top ,steeped into it and rode down the cellar door in belly-tickling glory! He did this every day whenever he was bored.
During the summer Chicago showed an other crow trait-deviousness.
A friend came to visit and brought a beautiful falcon with him.During dinner he tied her by a long tether to stump.Chicago was furious,hating falcon by instinct,and he cursed her from the rooftop.then that crow brain went to work.When we next looked out we saw Chicago walking in circles round and round the stump,with the falcon flying and following,until she was wound right against the stump with her feet sticking out and her wings sprawled.Sneering ,the devious Chicago sat upon the stump and screamed unmercifully at her.
As I become aware of the “crow Latin” Chicago spoke,I understood some of the things the wild crows said to each other: “Here’s food,” “Panic!” “come and chase an owl,” “stop,” “fly away,” and “Lie down and hush,”.These were all communicated by various renditions of caw in different registers and degrees of excitement.
Crow language is the main reason why man has trouble trapping,shooting and killing the birds. Biologists shake their heads as they tell crows eyeing poisoned seed and, in a matter a minute,getting the word round to all other crows to “stay clear.”
It was only a modest flock that caw to our house that morning to caw and lure Chicago.As we stood at the window ,there arose from the elms and the maples a wild murmur.Wing rustled and beat the air.I looked out to see all the crows airborne.The crow could thundered over the house ,but Chicago remained –alone.
He was circling on a limb ,wings lifted,beak open in his agony of indecision.Suddenly I heard that “Ahhhhh huck” – the cry of old mother crow –high above the house,and Chicago plunged in to the air.
He went over the roof,eyes ahead,as he answered the ancient call to migrate.I ran to a front window and leaned out.Chicago flew on and on,two wing beats per second, crow fashion,so as not to over –extend himself.
Suddenly I saw it all.I had lived with crows long enough now o know their language,their deviousness,their intelligence.
“The first cry at the nest ,” I said to john, “it was not a note of sadness That mother said to her son: ‘go into their home,eat all you can,learn all you can.We will come for you in October.And you will teach us the habits of our beloved enemy so that we can outwit them and survive.’ ”
