Last week, we were trapped in our house by a crow.
Sort of?
Lightly trapped?
There were only two crows. We weren’t in any serious danger.
I went outside earlier than usual that morning. My kids were riding their trikes outside, so I decided to watch them while I sorted papers. After a while, though, I noticed two crows flying back and forth in the trees behind me. They were screeching on and on, constantly.
One landed on a branch just above my head. It screamed at me for a moment, then flew across to the other tree.
And then it did again.
And again . . .
. . . and again.
It felt odd. I don’t look like a scary predator, right? So, why were they picking on me?
Then a neighbor kid came over. He had seen a baby crow on the ground—about five feet from where I was sitting.
Well, whoops.
I guess the crows did have some reason to be concerned, maybe?
When I started looking around, there was the baby crow—huddled in the shadows about thirty feet away from me. (So, make that three crows, then.)
And yes, its parents were still screaming at me.
I grabbed the camera for a quick picture, and took the kids back inside. We found a window and settled in to watch.
After we left, the crows settled. They still flew back and forth around their baby, telling it to stay quiet and wait.
The baby crow didn’t move for several minutes, but then perked up. Once it was sure we were gone, it hopped around on the bank. It clambered across a patch of ivy, hopped back into the open, and finally crawled into our blackberry tangle.
Over the course of the afternoon, the baby crow wandered in and out of the blackberries. Finally, though, it hopped over our fence into the neighbor’s yard and disappeared.
We haven’t seen the crows since, but there seem to be fewer neighborhood cats at the moment. I’m hoping it escaped and learned to fly.
Now I’m curious where the crows managed to hide the nest all that time. We still have no idea where it was.
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