Heckle, Jekyll & Hyde...
t's not surprising that an opportunistic bird capable of thriving almost anywhere would exhibit complicated and intriguing behaviors. Put simply, crows are extremely difficult to pigeon hole (sorry).
Some populations migrate, some maintain residence in one place year round, others do a little of both. They can be fiercely territorial or, depending on the time of year, live communally in large roosts.
An extended family of crows (right) lives in my neighborhood. We became acquainted when an injured chick from the clan was being stalked by a tom cat. I watched as the protective crows menaced the cat for hours, but as night fell, they broke off the attack. Fearing the obvious, I shooed away the cat and tucked the tiny bird safely in a cardboard box for the night.
When I returned the chick the next morning, the crows just about ripped my face off. Studies indicate that crows not only distinguish between individual people, they remember who's been naughty and nice. Naturally, I expected trouble when I returned later that day. But instead of sounding the alarm, they pretty much ignored me.
Did they somehow reason that I'd been a Good Samaritan? I can't say. I can say that as soon as I started tossing them scraps of food, the clan became quite attached to me. They now think of me as an animated bird feeder and often perch outside my window (right) or follow me down the street.
What happened a couple of years later was even more astonishing. Returning home, I noticed a swarm of angry crows storming a maple tree half a block down the street. Actually, swarm and storming doesn't begin to describe what I was seeing. There were – and I'm not exaggerating -- between two and three hundred pissed-off crows screeching, swirling, then launching into the air after something. It was an Alfred Hitchcock movie; except in real life.
Neighbors instantly crowded the street. Shielding my eyes from the sun, I spotted a large Red-tailed Hawk. The crows were pecking and dive-bombing the Red-tail as it fled. "Look," I said, "He’s got a mouse or something. Maybe he stole it from the crows and they’re trying to get it back."
The guy next to me shook his head, "It’s not a mouse," he said, "It’s a baby crow."
I looked up again. By this time, the fight was too far away, but the guy had to be right.
I don’t know where all those birds came from. Under normal circumstances, the neighborhood crows would fight tooth and nail to keep others away. But, when the Amber Alarm sounded, they came from all over and joined forces to take on a common enemy.
As Keanu Reeves would say, "Whoa."
Clearly, crows exhibit all kinds of fascinating behaviors, but every one of 'em looks the same, right? Not necessarily. Click here.
