We were in the dining room just after supper when we heard a wild ruckus of Crows calling out near our house. We wondered aloud:
What are they so worked up about? A Fox, a Skunk?
Lucas went out into the yard to see if he could find the source of the mad confusion of calls, the panicked flurry of wing beats, the hurried gathering, treetop. He came back across the yard through the front garden and into the kitchen.
Looks like a dead Crow on the Kinlock Rd he replied to our inquiries about what was going on all of a sudden.
Being birders and nature lovers, any close death of wildlife quiets us and this was no exception.
Lucas finished emptying the dishwasher in silence when almost as suddenly as the crow ruckus arose, another swelling up of confusion and shouting came from the same area. This time it was three young boys out at the end of our street, pointing and yelling about the crow lying motionless on the road before them. I could hear their shouts from the house and when I got outside, their wild gesturing and frantic waving at passerby’s had me concerned for their safety near the busy side road they were standing on the corner of.
Not sure what they were up to, I wondered to myself: Maybe in a state of small group boyhood bravado they were cheering on cars to see if more gore might come from the poor Crow’s death, or perhaps they were planning to take a stick and jab curiously at the deceased creature.
Mostly, I was just worried about the safety of the young fellows who looked to be nine or ten so I hung in my side yard, generally poking about while keeping my eye on their goings on.
Then I saw them walk out onto the road talking about a shovel and my mind kicked into interference mothering mode. The traffic just whizzes by our place. It was a small miracle the Crow hadn’t been ground into the pavement in the few short minutes since it was struck.
Two of the boys ran off to a nearby house while one remained behind. I walked over and asked about the bird’s death and if I could help them and the youngster replied that they all felt bad and wanted to get a shovel to get it off the road so it wouldn’t be run over again. I told him that we would take care of that for them as the road is far too dangerous to spend any time on, even for acts of impulsive kindness.
I left the boy to go off to find his friends not sure that I would see them again and walked back to my house to ask our son Lucas if he could help me with a shovel and a box. Having raised sensitive- hearted kids with a distinct fondness for birds and other wildlife I knew that it would not be a desirable task for him. The girls had declined assistance immediately and my husband was unavailable. Lucas agreed that we should get the crow off the road so as not to attract anymore grieving crows to the body or young boys out onto the street.
When we started out across the yard fragrant with a pungent blush of creeping thyme, I could hear one of the three boys, now returned, yell to the others: See, here she comes!
We carried a shovel and box over to where they were gathered at the intersection of our side street and the main road. I told them we were going to go out quickly when the road was clear and that I needed them to stay on the grass at the side of the road. We didn’t know if the bird would be difficult to clean up but it was just a quick slide and lift between the two of us and the cardboard and spade.
The boys said they thought they could see one of its wing bones. That they would have taken it home and buried it if we didn’t come along. That they felt so bad for the poor little crow to have met such a tragic ending. Talking over each other excitedly they said how much they love animals and that they felt sad. Their pure-hearted confessions nearly broke my own soft heart.
A light rain began to fall while we walked through our purpled ditch to the woods out back with the cardboard box and the featherweight Crow when one of the three lifted his little boy hands, palms to the sky and said the rain is a sign that the whole world is sad now for the little crow.
I remember when we were kids we would say that when it rained it meant that God was crying. These boys’ innocence and my own disillusionment made me feel like crying.
I told them while little deaths like this happen often in life that I thought it was wonderful that they cared so much about wild creatures that they wanted to help. We said they could stop by our yard anytime they wanted and that it might help them to know that crow families have a Crow way of dealing with things when they lose one of their family members and that know we should leave the crow’s to themselves.
The boys thanked us and walked off talking nonstop, three abreast, elbow to elbow, down our little side street. I wondered what they might tell their families of the incident.
When we came back inside the girls were quiet. We told them how affected the boys were by the loss and how sweet they were about the dead crow. Lucas said to us it was not one of this year’s baby crows who have been wreaking havoc in our garden pulling up bean sprouts and anything else they can get their curious beaks on. That it was an adult and perhaps a parent of this year’s brood.
Earlier in the day Maria had come in from the garden to tell us that she was greeted by an adult crow saying a guttural “Hallo”. Maybe it was that crow she wondered, or the one who comes to tap its beak on our front door looking for seed?
Who knows we answered.
I thought to myself: Maybe it was the parent who ushered the young family to our yard post- rain storm while all the little juveniles squawked and squawked their little red mouths off hungrily.
Whoever it was, it was a loss the entire, extended crow family howled about.
A loss three little boys shouted at cars breezing by about.
A loss that my whole little household felt throughout this evening. Because, really, it was its little Crow self just doing its little Crow thing until it wasn’t.
We are not that different at all.
Thanks for reading!
Jill