Gone To the Birds

It's 8:46 on a very rainy Thursday - a day off work and a day with absolutely nothing scheduled. I ate a perfectly soft boiled egg on buttered toast and am contemplating a second cup of coffee.

I was going to go fishing with my best guy
but it was raining.

Apparently salmon are fussy about such things. Go figure, since they LIVE in water.  Being up early anyway, I sneaked outside to conduct an experiment. I've been feeding gulls for years now.

You already know that.

In the last month or so I've taken a fancy to crows. 

There is something deeply satisfying to my inner witch, 

seeing dozens of crows in my back yard. 

The problem is my gullies assume anything I throw on the ground is for them. They are spoiled. When I throw peanuts out for the crows, the gulls, being gulls, swoop in and take over.  Since I spend about $50/week on cheap cat food for the gulls, I feel entitled to try to manage this situation.  On any given day you can catch me out in the yard with an empty, crackly plastic Audubon Raw Peanuts bag chasing the gulls away.  'Come on guys! You get yours every evening. This is for the crows! Shoo! Shoo! Shoo!"  I am now the proud owner of a Primos Old Crow crow call, so in between reasoning with the gulls, I follow the instructions on the back of the kazoo-like device and perform the eight 'Caw-Cawww' repetitions the package assures me is the feeding call.  Their response?  The crows do seem to congregate, look at me very curiously and chatter excitedly amongst themselves.

I really hope I'm not accidentally swearing in crow.

I'm not guessing, nor am I worried about what the neighbors think.  

Back to this morning's experiment . . . I thought if I was out before the gulls and scattered peanuts on the sidewalk the crows would discover them first and have a peaceful feast. Nope. Gull radar is so finely tuned I only have to open my back door before the first scout raises the alarm.  While a crow was first on the scene, caution held him back. Shortly the few gathered crows were outnumbered twenty to four.  In view of the drenching rain I left them to their own devices. You can lead a crow to peanuts . . . so to speak.

Are there life lessons here? I don't know.  Go after what you want?  The early bird gets the worm? Don't take peanuts from a white haired lady talking crow smack?  At a time when this country is torn apart by the ick of politics I simply take comfort in watching crows and gulls eating peanuts in my back yard.  One thing I have noticed:

They don't fight.  

The crows and the gulls. 

They don't fight.

The end.