Towheeblog

There’s little doubt who’s really in charge outdoors in our neighborhood. I never see a cop car. Only rarely do neighbors walk about. There seem to be no bicycle-age or skateboarding kids, old folks and kiddies but nought in between. No bears, foxes, wolves or even coyotes. The squirrels are loud but cowardly, the jays obnoxious as is their wont, but they scatter when I appear too close. We live in Crow Country, Native Americans of the corvid tribe.

“What do you see when you look at me, Crow? What is going on behind that bright, knowing eye, Raven? Are you thinking about me thinking about you? Are you, in your own way, enjoying this brief moment of mutual recognition?” —Bird Brains, Candace Savage.

Just yesterday I was walking down our block, a Cooper’s Hawk was atop a bare-topped conifer above a neighbor’s garden that is hung with popular bird feeders. Watching. A crow had seen, landed briefly in a nearby tree, then swooped in to attack and chased the hungry hawk out of the neighborhood, calling victoriously. Every little bird within earshot sighed and went back to low-level alert, again.