A murder of crows

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May 28, 2017 It started with a 4a.m. text. The ping of my cellphone woke me. I struggled to open one eye, then replied to the text and sank back down onto my pillow, looking forward to another couple of hours of sleep. But no. Caw caw caw. A few seconds of silence, then Caw caw caw. On and on it went. Okay, okay, I'm getting up! I bumped my half-awake self into the kitchen, started coffee, pulled on some clothes and stepped out onto my porch with my cuppa only to be greeted by a huge uproar of cawing and dive-bombing crows. Then I saw it. It looked like an injured adult crow, limping along the street. It didn't seem able to fly. It seemed confused and in trouble. I watched for a few minutes from just inside my front door as the bird sought refuge under my neighbor's shrubbery. Accompanied by much commotion and at my own peril from attacking crows, I walked next door to consult my other neighbor. She'd seen the bird earlier as it had walked across her other next door neighbor's yard, and through her patio, then on into the street. I stayed a few minutes and went home, once again dodging avian attackers. What to do? I was concerned about this crow. Another neighbor had threatened to bring out her gun in the belief that violence was the way to end the cawing which was "annoying" her. I concede that the cawing isn't exactly as sweet as a nightingale, but still, a gun? I just didn't think that was the answer. So I opened the gate to my yard, hoping the bird in its distress would seek refuge in a sort of sanctuary behind my trailer. If it did, my reasoning went, I could close the gate to keep it in, and safe from cars, neighbors, and maybe some predators. The crows kept guard all day. Finally, we all settled down for the night. The next morning I stepped out my back door and, in spite of the racket and attacks, I walked around my tiny back yard. The crow was huddled in a corner. I closed the gate and went back inside to call the local Audubon Society, which has a wildlife rescue program. They said it was a good sign that the other birds were still protecting my feathered ward. They told me the bird was likely a fledgling, fallen from its nest. It would take about a week for its tail feathers to grow enough for it to fly properly. I should leave it in the back yard and not molest it or feed it because the noisy fuss about the bird meant they were also still feeding it. The Audubon staff didn't think the bird was injured or sick but rather that it was not only learning to fly but learning to walk, and thus the limp. They wouldn't come out to my house but if I could capture the bird, put it into a box and bring it to them, they'd take a look at it. Hah. No way was I going to approach this bird because of the fierce attacks provoked by my simply stepping out of my door. So I now have this guest. I did put some water out for it yesterday. This morning I stepped out of the back door to see if it was still there. I didn't spot it, but judging by the uproar, the answer was "YES". If the youngster is still with me tomorrow, I'll have to put on some protective clothing and venture out to bring in my cast iron hibachi in case the rain arrives on Tuesday, as predicted. In only a day or two, I've learned many things about crows. In addition to the information from the Audubon staff, I've learned that fledglings are often mistaken for adult crows, my crow is an American crow, subspecies Corvus brachyrhynchos hesperis, commonly called western crow, they are monogamus, and they form large families (I guess the protectors of the fledgling in my back yard are made up of parents and cousins). Other fun facts can be found at Wikipedia. Just type in "American Crow". Oh yes. A group of crows is called a murder, a term from the 15th century. I wondered if it had anything to do with the extreme annoyance my neighbor probably shares with other humans when they're confronted with the uproar that crows can generate when they are threatened. If you click the link below (Google: Why is a group of crows called a murder), scroll down for more—and more interesting, I think—explanations.