My Murder of Crows

This person at work was telling me about how there is a black market out there for baby crows. People will find a nest, scramble up the tree, and while their cohorts wait in the car, they grab the babies while the mama crows are all cawing and pecking at them, menacingly circling their heads. (Doesn’t your job suddenly seem a little better?)


I kind of didn’t get it, but thought that may be because I am a bird hater. But I mean, of all the birds, crows are my favorite. I think I can just relate to them; they like shiny things, sound somewhat coarse, and mimic people. I read that when you sit there going “Hello! Hello!” the crow will eventually repeat it; then you move on to a new word, and soon you can have this verbal crow. Their life span is between 3 and 5 years; so it’s like a cooler version of the parrot (I mean, really—crow can kick parrot’s ass) without the serious commitment. You don’t have to worry about how your grandkids will feel about the crow. Also, you can get a bunch and call it a murder. Apparently scientifically they do call it a flock and it is more just poetic to call it a murder. But that doesn’t make it wrong!

So now I have this plan of getting a murder of crows, and having them do my bidding. I can sit home and be like “crow, get my slippers!” and send the crow into my room. I bet with their intelligence and sharp beaks, they can even open my beer. Or, I can be out somewhere and just yell, “Bring me home, my pretties!” and my murder will all swoop down and grab hold of me, lifting me into the sky and to home. Hopefully their talons won’t just tear my clothes off and I go falling naked from the sky. But my crows wouldn’t let that happen.