Eating Crow

Written By Barbara O'Brien

There comes a time in every parent’s life when suddenly their children are smarter than they are.

This happened to me recently when I was with my eldest son, Wes. Wes, sadly, has been unemployed for the last few months so he has taken to tagging along with me on my errands and photo shoots. So when I needed to go check out some lambs and goat kids that I wanted to use in an upcoming photo shoot, Wes came along for the ride.

I have a farmer friend that not only has prize winning sheep and goats, but also breeds prize winning chickens and waterfowl. He has every imaginable chicken, duck, goose and swan and they all announced our arrival, loudly clucking, calling, and quacking as we pulled up.

You would not need an alarm system if you have even a few African Geese.

The dog ran up, tail between her legs with her ears back in submission, as if to say, “I am so sorry. They make such a racket. Really, I’ve tried to talk to them about it, but they just don’t listen.”

My friend came out and took us to see the lambs and goats. I picked out the ones I wanted and we about to leave when he said; “Oh, I have something you can take pictures of.” He led us through a series of pens, each one filled with exotic ducks and geese until we came to a pen with a live trap in the middle. I fully expected to see a monster raccoon, as I knew that raccoons are no friends to a chicken-duck-goose-farm.

What I didn’t expect to see was a very big, very angry crow. My friend told me that the crow must’ve tried getting the bait and now found himself in big trouble. “You can take him home and take pictures of him,” he said excitedly. My mind began to spin at the possibilities. Maybe I could tame him and teach him all sorts of clever tricks like Uncle Billy’s crow in It’s a Wonderful Life. How cool is that?!

Wes and I watched in amazement as my friend reached into the trap to transfer the crow to a small poultry carrier. We were even more amazed when the crow latched onto my friend’s tender skin between his thumb and forefinger with his incredibly shark beak and refused to let go. Being an elderly fellow, and the victim of, I imagine, many bird bites, my friend didn’t even flinch as he pulled the crow’s beak away and put the bird in the carrier

He happily loaded the crow into my van, all the while telling me how neat it will be to take the crow’s photograph. I thanked him and drove away, with really cool shots already dancing in my head.

I had no sooner left the driveway and hit the main road, when Wes, who had remained uncharacteristically silent, during the entire exchange, turned to me and said, “Mom, this is a bad idea.”

Now when your 22-year-old looks you square in the eye and says, “Mom, this is a bad idea”, one should take notice.

“I, myself, have had some bad ideas,” he continued,. “Like driving a car in Wisconsin with expired tags — bad Idea. And quitting my job before I had another one — bad Idea. And dating a girl who was still in love with her old boyfriend……Really Bad Idea”.

He looked me in the eye to make sure I was paying attention. “My bad idea meter is going off the charts on this one,” he warned.

“What?” I asked. “What’s the big deal?” I’m just gonna bring him home and take his picture and then let him go,” I said.

“One, its illegal.” he protested. “You know you can’t keep a wild bird. Two, I know you think you are a pretty good trainer but this bird is not going to pose for you. Three, someone is going to get hurt. It’s a really bad idea.”

“C’m’on, we could make it work at least for a few shots.”

“Mom,” he said again. “Bad idea. That bird is going to be terrified and he’s going to fly all over the studio breaking things, perhaps even hurting himself trying to escape. He is most certainly going to hurt you. Bad idea,” he said again, turning his head away as if to say, how could his own mother be so dumb.

I imagined my sweet tame Uncle Billy crow turning into one of the crows from Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds and had to reluctantly agree that he was right. I played it back and forth in my mind, trying to get around the reality of owning illegal wild crows, and had to concede my son was smarter than I was. We went a little further to a secluded spot on the road and pulled over.

We set the carrier down and opened the door. The crow, who had been eyeing us with the blackest sharpest eyes, I had ever seen, walked slowly out onto the road. He didn’t even look back as he took flight, not knowing how close he came to being captive to my creativity.

Wes, put his hand on my shoulder. “Thanks, Mom," he said, as we watched the crow fly farther and farther away. It was then I realized, I am not so dumb after all — I raised him, didn’t I?

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