Counting on Crows

Crows: four of them perched on a shelf in the back of the cage, shifting their weight, keeping a wary eye on the humans who spoke in hushed tones filled with awe when they came into the room to have a look at them.
There is something eerie about the way they watch you with those blue eyes, and the way they chortle when they’re fed, a noise that sounds like a happy toddler chattering to himself. Or maybe it is all the myths surrounding crows that give the impression they possess some ancient knowledge.
Native Americans believed that ravens, a close cousin to crows, created the earth. Other myths credit them with creating man and with placing the sun in the sky. And looking at them, those curious blue eyes, which will later turn black, the way they strut about their cage and speak in an indecipherable language, you think it just may be true.
The four juveniles came to the rehab center from Greensboro the first week in May after the tree that held their nest was cut down. They were considered babies though by time they got to us they seemed like big birds, 10 inches tall, but still needing to be fed by hand. When humans approached their cage they’d open their mouths wide and beg for food, making mewing sounds.
Holding them while their cage was being cleaned, I felt their sharp claws dig into my hand. They left a welt but failed to pierce the skin. Neither their claws nor beaks can break through skin; that’s why they’re so eager to partake of roadkill.
Those of us who fed them tried to remain silent in their presence. Crows are quick studies and can mimic humans and other birds. They adapt easily to people, a dangerous trait in animals we hope to release to the wild.
Members of the family Corvidae, which includes ravens, jackdaws, blue jays and a long list of other birds, are among the most intelligent creatures we come in contact with. Often the young play complicated games, passing sticks beak to beak, performing barrel rolls in mid air, hanging upside down from power lines. They cache their food, and studies suggest that they may even “lie” about it, pretending to hide food in front of other crows, then moving it when the others aren’t looking.

The crows were moved to an outdoor cage at the rehab center in June. Last week three of them were returned to the wild.
That same week, a poem by Judith Barrington appeared on the Writer’s Almanac (http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/programs/2006/07/03/)

It reads in part:

Like most animals, crows tell the truth:
working hard to penetrate our tiny tubular ears, they cackle on telephone lines while we watch TV.
Once I did listen to a crow, but even when I had heard his whole story, there was nothing I could do.
Next, I thought, I'd have to listen to squirrels and coyotes.

Perhaps that’s not such a bad idea.