George Cleveland wrote:



Love those corvids! Jays, crows and ravens. My favorite birds.

g.c.

In a lot of ways, mine too. And don't forget the Magpies. Most clever
animals.

Growing up we would raid crow and magpie nests for a couple of the young
birds to raise as pets. We had much better success with the crows than
the magpies. (Although, in his youth, my father raised a magpie that was
legend. Well, at least family legend. He named him Mac and managed to
teach him to say "Hello, Mac" or at least something close. Close enough
to scare the devil out of old Mac Waddell anyway. Mac Waddell was a
distant neighbor who happened to stop by for a visit one day. As he was
chatting with my grandfather, our feathered friend flew up and landed
next to Mr. Waddell and as polite as could be squawked, "Hello, Mac."
Well, as the story goes ole Mr. Waddell lit out of there and was not to
be seen at my grandfathers place for many a moon.)

Most of the magpies we raised would leave as soon as they could fly, but
one of them hung around for a couple of years and would fly up on a
window sill and beg for food. He wouldn't let us touch him but he would
take food from us.

We raised several crows, though, with great success. One in particular,
we named him Alex, was memorable. To say that Alex was a character
would be an understatement. To call him a pest would be accurate. Most
of all he was lovable.

Alex and our Border Collie, Brownie, were best of friends. At least so
thought the crow. He pestered and teased that poor dog to no end. One of
his favorite antics was to perch on the Brownies head and then pull his
ears. The dog endured it well for the most part and at times seemed to
enjoy the pesterings of his feathered friend. Sometimes this ear pulling
would evolve into a hilarious game of tag with each taking turns chasing
each other around the yard.

Alex would often follow me when I went out in the fields to work. He
would usually just sit on a fence post at one end of the field while I
worked. But if I had to stop to say, fix a broken cutting blade on the
swather, he would fly there in a moment to check out what was going on.
This is where he could be a real pest. If he wasn't watched closely he
would steal anything he could get his beak on--nuts, bolts,
tools--anything he could snatch and carry off. Fortunately, we knew he
favorite hiding place, so we were able to retrieve most of what he
stole, but he did manage to lose a few things.

Sorry this was so long, but George's comment about loving those birds
opened the memory floodgates.

Russell