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| A robin's nest in a juniper in my garden |
I hate crows. But it wasn't always this way. They used to remind me of Edgar Allan Poe, Halloween and road kill, until this morning when I witnessed a site that was both horrific and fascinating.
As I sat on the patio sipping my morning coffee and listening to the wrens and finches, the Caw! Caw! of two crows silenced an otherwise peaceful scene. Bird panic ensued as the crows perched on the peak of my neighbor's house. One crow hopped down to the edge where the roof meets the gutter and plucked something, a young robin, from its nest. The robins went bananas and were joined by other robins in adjacent trees who dive bombed the crow, trying to help the parents free the baby. The crow was unfazed, returning to the peak, baby in beak.
The crow released the robin and began eating it, pulling and tearing at its flesh as the birds continued to scream and swoop the rogue pair. I sat there in disbelief, yet unable to look away. I felt the distress of the robins. My racing pulse, a visceral effect of nature in its rawest form.
"Opportunistic, quickly taking advantage of new food sources."
A crow's feeding habits as described by Audubon.org
I cursed those crows for the rest of the day and shared the story with my family. My oldest daughter simply said, "I can't believe you watched that Mom."
Damn crows.
