Cacophonous Cawers

A bird we hear more often than we see around here is the crow—more specifically, the American crow. You hear them frequently, because their call is loud and raucous and they’re likely to gather in a flock and engage in a bellowing tournament, as if to see which one of them can outshout the others. They are a funny bunch to listen to, as they get inventive and even a little silly, while engaging in their spontaneous spoutings.

The crow is a solid, big bird. It’s twice the size of a cardinal but outweighs it by a factor of 10. It takes some 40 chickadees to balance the weight of one crow! A crow is simultaneously ugly and beautiful. I guess maybe that dual feeling may be caused by its unsavory reputation, but when you see one close, you can’t help but admire the stark beauty of that absolute blackness. And it isn’t really utterly black, but has a gorgeous metallic sheen to it.

Crows have earned a repugnant reputation from gardeners—although we’ve never had one raid our tender veggie shoots, so we still like them. They are carrion eaters. On our back roads you’ll often see a crow lift into the air from the carcass of a squirrel, as you approach them around a curve. They also forage for garbage and are often plentiful around urban trashy areas. They walk with a strut, sort of a sailor’s swagger—looking cockier than a rooster. So they are not the cutest bird around, nor are their habits attractive.

Crows are one of our brainiest birds. They study other birds to gain an advantage (they love to steal food), they learn admirably well, and are excellent tool manipulators. They engage in complex social activities—one of the more noticeable being the aforementioned cacophonous chorus. Their flight is not the dipsy-doodle, undulating flight of smaller birds. They fly straight and strong—hence the expression “as the crow flies.”

But there also are times when the crow exhibits some amazing aerial acrobatics: when they’re going after a hawk. I recently glanced up to see a hawk perched in a nearby tree. I think a “caw” had caught my attention. Four crows were circling the larger predator and one dove straight at the hawk, who had to leap from its limb, lest that crow’s heavy bill impale it. Once in the air, all four crows aimed for the hawk. Even though it was twice the size of its harassers, the hawk fled down the creek with one crow literally on its tail, threatening to pull out one of its feathers.

Turn about is fair play, however, since I’ve also watched a handful of small songbirds (easily outweighed by one crow) close ranks and chase off the bigger black bird.

Each day I gain a little more appreciation for how some naturalists have made bird lore their life’s avocation. Many are the times that I’ve been stopped in my tracks by the arresting sight or sound of a bird. They are endlessly fascinating.