In article ,
"Padraig" wrote:

"Cathy F." wrote in message
...

;-) Crows are apparently much shyer than I'd assumed they'd be. I've
been feeding several of them for a couple of years now (peanuts & walnuts
tossed out onto my front walk, drive, or lawn), and only a couple of them
are now brave enough to come within about 15 feet of me. But they sure
come swooping over as soon as they realize something's on offer, & sit up
in the trees or on the wires until they figure it's "safe" enough to come
down & to get their treats. Then they often do a side-step feinting sort
of deal till they get to the goodies. And if a squirrel shows up, they
never try to block the squirrel - always jump up into the air & avoid the
squirrel instead. Are fun(ny) to watch.


They are reputed to be extremely intelligent. I'm not sure I buy that idea.
If they were that smart they ought to be able to figure out the difference
when somebody's a threat or if somebody's a friend.

There was a weird story I heard when I was a kid. One of my chums told me
that if you raided a nest and caught a young crow they could be taught to
speak just like a parrot only better and much faster --- but you had to slit
the tongue lengthwise first.

I don't know how stories like that start but I heard it over and over again
from a lot of people so it wasn't something he made up. I honestly doubt
that anybody ever tried it. And if they DID - why should slitting the
tongue enable them to speak better than a non-cut tongue?

Pretty gory. If I were a crow and somebody slit my tongue I'd be smart
enough to get away at the first chance.

I heard that story a million times growing up. So did my friend Billy.
He was one of the kids in my crowd who made dreams a reality (I was
another, but that's another story).

Billy climbed a monster pine tree about fifty feet up to rob a crow's
nest. The chick grew furiously and was very attached to Billy.
Everyone kept telling him to cut the bird's tongue, but Billy was smart
and didn't fall for old wive's tales.

That bird was an absolute riot. It talked, for sure. Mostly stuff that
a sailor wouldn't repeat.

But the most fun thing about that crow was her habit of anting whenever
she had the slightest inclination. She would ant with ants all day long
if they were available. The night we saw her ant with fire was magical.
It was around a campfire in a senescent apple grove. The bird had never
seen a fire before. She was intensely curious about it, and gradually
got closer and closer (in that jerky, skeptical incremental way that
crows are famous for) to the embers of the fire. To everyone's
amazement, she picked up a small glowing ember that popped out of the
fire and, holding it gingerly at the very tip of her beak, rubbed the
damn thing vigorously around under her wings, rolling her head, cackling
and muttering and acting quite satisfied with herself. Those of us who
had seen her anting with ants and had researched the behavior via
wildlife encyclopedias at the local library were not entirely taken
aback. We were delighted to leave those witnesses entirely astonished,
just so.

Billy freed the bird in a remote spot miles from his house after she
tried to burn the house down. Quite by accident, actually. She had a
habit of stealing coins and paper clips and kitchen matches and such.
Nobody knew where she hid them until a nasty fire erupted in the laundry
room. Billy's father's forensics revealed a large cache of scorched
trinkets horded behind the gas water heater, and presumably stolen
matches taking fire was the cause of the blaze. Luckily, the rest of
the house was spared other than a bit of smoke damage.

We missed that bird for a long, long time.