Crows

​Crows
Crows.  Boy do they get a bad wrap.  A group of crows is often called a “murder” of crows.  Not a flock but a “murder.”  Don’t know that there is a worse wrap.  It does not help that in Alfred Hitchcock’s movie “The Birds” crows (among others) start attacking people.  When farmers want to dissuade birds from their paddocks they use a scare “crow.”  We have a farmer mate for whom the only good crow is a dead crow.
We have a couple of crows that visit us, and some of their behaviour does not enhance their lovability.  Though we sometimes find a random bone in the yard.  We know we did not put it there (unless Merril is a serial killer and not telling me).  The guy across the road told me the crows move his stuff.  He knows he puts things in one place and finds them moved.  Not gone but moved.  He says it is the crows.
The same people asked did we ever feed our crows boney stuff.  The answer is no.  We will not give them anything that can be transported and make a mess.  Bones are never in the crows diet.  Yet for us having them is a win-win.  We have scraps to be dealt with, and they get a feed.
We discourage any other meat eaters.  We see some Currajongs but chase them away.  We do that with Magpies too.  We love Kookaburras and do not mind them sitting in a tree scanning the joint for snakes.  They perform like a public service.  One place I owned I saw a Kookaburra rise from the ground with a snake in its claws.  I did not know it was there, but it did.
Diversity is the name of the game for us.  We want a bit of everything rather than all of one.  We are fortunate in that only two crows visit us and sometimes they bring their baby.  For other people heaps is good.  For us a few are good.  We have only been here eight years and even before we encouraged the crows, we had noticed less diversity.
I must admit though, we love our crows.  We have even given them names but I cannot tell them apart.  Though one seems really nervous of our shed for some reason.  When there is food near it, it approaches it with extreme caution, grabs it and jumps back.  We do spend a bit of time laughing at their antics.  Including the way they hide food.  It is commendable they put some aside for later, though under a leaf hardly seems ideal.  It is like they do not think anything else has a sense of smell.
Or sight.  An Indian Minor watched a crow hiding their food and promptly went to the place.  I reckon there is a place for everything.  And India is the place for Indian Minors.  But they are here.  I think “well it is not their fault.”  They did not fill out a form saying Australia was the place they wanted to emigrate to.  They were brought here.  And thrived.
Though we could never love them for their song.  It is hardly a melodious tone that comes from their lips.  Still, we find them lovable.