It pains me to say this, but the Crows are back. Not the band, but the Avian models. I moved the bird feeders to a new, more open location, hoping to deter squirrels, crows, and other critters, such as rats, field Mice, Possums, and other nocturnal creatures. It didn’t work. The Hawks or the Horned Owl that calls a back lot tree home may have dispatched the pesky Squirrels, but the Crows are a nuisance. Pushy Avian bullies exhibit an attitude similar to that of high school students. They park themselves outside of our bedroom window and squawk, starting before daylight. I know that somewhere in the woods behind our land, there is a roughly written sign in bird language with directions to our back yard feeders. There is also a barcode since the Crows will take a quarter and bring me back a dime in change. They are smart, and no, I haven’t found the sign yet. So, Momo, my overly sympathetic wife, continues to feed them peanuts, their favorite food, as if we run a Luby’s bird cafeteria. Today, the Blue Jays beat the Crows to the peanuts and cleaned them out, so now the Crows are amassing on the high wires, similar to Hitchcock’s famous movie. I need my eyes, so I’m staying in the house this afternoon, or at least until they go to roost. I’ve also oiled up my old 4-10 shotgun, just in case.
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Notes From The Cactus Patch 
I love all birds, EXCEPT crows!! The good news, Phil, is that they have generational memory. A few years ago, there was one that perched on a pine tree about a block and a half away, and cawed like crazy from before dawn until after dusk. It was so bad that we couldn’t even enjoy a visit or a good book on our balcony. I called him “the king crow”. Hubs finally got permission from the city (under the nuisance bylaw), borrowed my brother’s pellet gun with a good scope and a long range, and on the second shot, that crow was no more. It’s now at least three years later, and not a single crow has taken over that perch. We still hear them from time to time in the distance, but it’s not anything like it was.
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They are Gods way of terroriziing us. These birds have no boundries or domacile instintions, they are birds, and they don’t give one shit about if we need to sleep or not. I do have a reliable Daisy BB gun that will take his noisy ass out at any time. Imagine the surprise when he falls to the ground and says, ” what the hell did I say to piss them off?”
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Crows are awesome! You’r not going to outsmart them. The ratio of their brain compared to their bodies is bigger than a human’s. 🙂
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Thanks, Nancy, that’s what I needed to know at this time: a damn Crow is smarter than a 76 year old man, which makes since in Crow years. I’m pretty stupid these days. I do love all birds, even the little loud shits. Thanks for the uplifting encouragement, I guess?
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(1) We have raven lunatics here in Nevada. And some of them are birds.
(2) Mr. Straw-n, have you considered putting up a scarecrow? According to Dorothy, anyone with a brain would know to do that.
(3) I wonder if Bluebeard ever killed our state bird, the mountain bluebird? Only his taxidermist would know for sure.
(4) A mob of crows, a clan of crows, a parcel of crows, a muster of crows, a collection of crows, a murder of crows. What do you have in Texas? (Don’t let that last one give you any ideas!)
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In Texas, folks just call em “damn Crows”, but all the names you listed would fit just fine. Speaking of Dorothy, have you seen the Wizard of Oz at the Sphere? I would make the trip just to experience that one. I’m also afraid of tornado’s and those flying monkey’s.
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I haven’t seen The Wizard of Oz at the Sphere. Showings sell out pretty fast in spite of the high cost of a ticket. I once watched twin tornadoes carve a path through Liberty, Missouri. But I was a few miles away, out in the country, on an elevated deck. I haven’t seen any flying monkeys, but I’ve seen a few Las Vegas shows with airborne acrobats doing crazy stuff.
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Yes, Momo and I killed the plan to see the Sphere production. It has been my childhood favorite show, except for those evil monkeys, which left me with childhood trauma. I couldn’t ride my 75-pound all-American steel Western Flyer bike down the sidewalk without looking over my shoulder in fear of being spirited away by a winged primate dressed like Jimi Hendrix. I was in a tornado once in Texas, around 1955. My parents and I were at a drive-in theater, and the storm took out the screen, similar to the movie Twister, but without the flying cars. We got out before the car went airborne. I checked out a sample of your book on Amazon and plan to order it. Sounds intriguing. A Papal James Bond. Your humor is akin to that of old Samuel Clemmons, and you resemble him.
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Phil,
I hope you enjoy Pope on the Dole. I’ll be publishing two detective novels (his/hers) later this fall.
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