I gotta crow

Okay, one more (short, I promise) post and then I'll hang it up for today.

As you might recall, Jerry's gotten into the habit of feeding the neighborhood crows on our morning walks. Crows are no dummies; au contraire. Several of them have learned where we live, and lately they've been stopping by, asking, vociferously, to be fed. Our Columbia Gorge basalt accent column is now a bird feeding station. The crows are getting progressively tamer; when we go outside, crumbled dog biscuits in hand, they hop or fly just a few feet away, and swoop down on the goodies as soon as our backs are turned.

Apparently we now have a family hanging out in and around our pair of sweetgum trees; we saw one bird cramming bits of Milk-Bone (tm) down the throats of two marginally-smaller others. A couple have figured out how to soften up large pieces by soaking them in the puddle formed by our leaky irrigation sprinkler (which is another story). We love watching their antics, anthropomorphizing about their thought processes, and trying to figure out what their amazingly varied range of calls, caws, grunts, clicks and cackles are actually saying. I have to caution Jer not to respond in kind; god knows what he might be committing to.

Several crows have died of West Nile virus in our quadrant of Portland. There was another article in the paper this morning. I am in denial about this, of course.

The Man Who Talks to Crows

Jerry typically carries a small supply of dog biscuits when we go for a walk. Lately, he's been feeding more crows in the neighborhood than dogs.

He's developed a little routine, a line of patter to attract the corvoid flocks: "Look, Mr. Crow! Yo! Pay attention! Here you go!" As if they needed to be told.

Some are a bit leery, waiting til we're well down the block before cautiously approaching the fragments of Milk-Bone (tm) scattered on the sidewalk. Others are downright bold, swooping over our heads and landing right behind us to feed the moment we walk away.

I think we've officially joined the ranks of eccentric but basically harmless retired people. In fact, I know it. Apparently the crows do, too.