Crow Rant

A brutally rent stump stands between our deck and the ocean. It used to be a magnificant fir tree but it blew down in a wind storm last year.

We were very lucky the tree didn’t land on anything important. My husband started referring to the stump as the “monument.” I didn’t like looking at it. I didn’t want the constant reminder of the beautiful eagle perch that was no more.

But within a day or two of losing the tree, starlings took up residence in the stump’s ragged cavity. Their presence took away some of the sting from the tree’s loss.

I know that starlings aren’t the darling of the bird set, but having a front-row seat to their antics these past two years has endeared them to me. I just have to look up from my computer to watch their antics. The adults constantly flit in and out of the monument with yummy bugs and other goodies in their beaks. They raise two families a year and each time the wee ones hop out of their nest for the first time, I get embarrassingly excited.

But this morning I didn’t enjoy my front-row seat.

The sound of angry, panicked starlings made me look up. What I saw was a big black crow perched outside the nest cavity. The crow then reached its nasty beak inside and plucked out a baby chick as if the starling’s nest were at a fast-food take-out window. I was horrified. The crow flew off with the chirping chick in his beak and an entourage of adult starlings dive-bombing it.

Immediately, I tore out of the house. With our dog Molly on my heels, I raced across the deck and down the stairs to the beach where the adult starlings had forced the crow to land. I paid no mind to the smelly seaweed and slippery rocks and ran as fast as I could manage in my slippers. The tiny chirps of the crow’s prey tugged at my heart and spurred me on.

At a distance, I could see the crow pecking at the helpless chick. The adult starlings never relented with their swooping, but the crow paid no attention, as if these kamikaze birds were mere gnats.

I, however, was a much bigger threat.

The crow noticed me. I ran full tilt toward it, flailing my arms and yelling obscenities. I clapped my hands and urged Molly to, “Go get ‘em.” (She thought the impromptu run on the beach was great fun and something we should do more often.) The crow took off. With relief, I watched the little starling hop away and flutter its wings. While I was bent over recovering my breath (and my sanity), I lost track of the chick.

After I straightened up, I looked around, but couldn’t find it. Assuming it had gotten away, I started back home. Half way back to the deck, the starling’s racket started up again. I looked out to the beach toward the angry chatter to see that the crow had returned and had resumed pecking at the baby starling. This time I couldn’t hear any tiny chirps. It saddened me to know that the poor chick had become a McMeal.

My heart broke a little bit.

I wanted to kill that damn crow. It’s bloody lucky I’m such a crappy shot and haven’t learned to fly. I returned to the house mumbling death threats. I kept a watchful eye on the stump and within the hour, the starlings were back. They resumed their bug collection and delivery routine and I went back to my computer.

Eventually, I’ll get over it, just like the starlings, but for the time being, I’m going to be good and mad. And I don’t want to hear about how crows need to eat too, or it’s only natural, or that the fittest survive, or some other mother-nature crap. Mother Nature’s a bitch today and crows are avem non grata around here for the time being.

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