I moved into a neighbourhood late last summer that hosts a murder (or few) of crows. This is active crow country and after I posted a video of numerous crows perched high in a tree in front of my place, cawing their hearts out, my thoughtful friend Leyla sent me this poem about crows by Mary Oliver.
I see them in trees, or on ledges of buildings,
as cheerful as saints, or thieves of the small job
who have been, one more night, successful—
and like all successes, it turns my thoughts to myself.
(An excerpt of Mary Oliver’s Crows)
I have found the crows to be fascinating and full of personality. I have made a daily practice of observing them and befriending them. I read that they will sometimes leave gifts for the people they like and I would be overjoyed if that happened to me one day. A person can dream.
Last fall, before my morning walks with Poppy, I began the practice of filling my coat pocket with freeze dried chicken or salmon dog treats (in a reusable ziplock cause p.u.), and tossing them to the crows I saw while walking my daily route. They grew bold with me quickly and started escorting me home, one crow flying low (at my knee height) alongside me on the road while I walked on the sidewalk with Poppy. I continue to feed the crows, they continue to do this, and I continue to be tickled. They also perch on wires above me and click and caw. They are not shy, they let their presence be known and will sometimes land directly in my path, surprisingly close, and caw their demand for treats. I always oblige because I am delighted that they interact with me. They swoop low over my head and saucily run close to me to snatch up the treats I toss. I am endlessly amused by their funny little struts.
In the winter, I added a verbal cue to my daily crow feeding practice and I began saying “hello hello” every time I handed out a treat. After a few months of this practice, one morning I heard a tiny, high pitched “hello.” My smile most certainly reached from ear to ear that day. Over the course of the winter, I received three “hellos.”
One morning this spring, I was walking with Poppy on my usual route and from way up above me I heard a high pitched “hello,” called over and over again. A man taking out his green bin a few houses down also heard and stopped to look up and see where it was coming from. I was looking around too, and I couldn’t see the crow who was saying hello, but I knew it was for me.
I think I might be getting a reputation in my neighbourhood. And not just with the crows! Hahaha!