Crows

Crow’s Mischief at Little Missouri River: A Fly-Fishing Tale

Bud loves fly-fishing. We camped at Dynamite Hill Campground near the Little Missouri River in Arkansas. Before daylight, I had coffee, sausage, biscuits, and eggs on our picnic table, under the tall pines. We enjoyed breakfast as the sun came up over the hills. Since it was a brisk morning and we weren’t concerned about spoilage, we wrapped our leftover sausage biscuits in foil and left them on the picnic table for the second breakfast we anticipated when Bud came back from his morning’s fishing. I took the opportunity to snuggle back under the covers with the dogs.

As I snoozed off and on through the morning, I noticed the birds were noisier than those at home. Near ten, I put on another pot of coffee, expecting Bud to show up soon.

I heard Bud shouting before I saw him. “Get out of here, you dirty little 4$.(@/s.” Mumble, rhrrrr, grumble!” I saw a rock fly skyward, then another, as I stepped out with a cup of hot coffee. The picnic table was littered with tattered scraps of napkins. Not a sausage biscuit remained! The jam was overturned. Had they only had opposable thumbs, I’m sure they’d have emptied the jar. As I glanced skyward. I saw the sun shining on bits of foil decorating the lower branches. A further inspection revealed that the observant crows had taken every sausage biscuit. Only a few crumbs lay neglected. Had Bud only been a few minutes later, they’d have been history, too. The crows didn’t seem a bit grateful, offering only raucous complaints at Bud’s fist-shaking, rock-throwing deprecations.

Crows in the Corn

We tangled with the crows last summer and came way out on the losing end. They patiently watched us plow, measure, make rows, and plant, showing special interest in the seeds we’d chosen. From their keen attention, we could see they were partial to sweet corn. They practically drooled when it came out of the bag. They watched patiently as we planted, then staked out our scarecrow complete with small twirling pie pans. Slightly interested, they eyed him from a distance, as though they might not have seen his identical twin earlier that day. By the time we got out to check our garden the next morning, all the corn was scratched up and the pie tins torn up. They’d been a little too big for the crows to fly off with. Bud cursed.

Back to the seed store, we got a large plastic owl and inflatable snakes for the garden. Instead of planting that day, Bud risked his life getting the owl on a high branch not too far from the garden to terrorize the crows. They battled over who would roost on it that evening. More cursing and posturing.

The next morning we replanted and scattered the inflatable snakes about the garden. The crows were impressed, circling the garden, giving the corn time to sprout. As it got taller, they showed greater attention, knowing the tiny tender kernel at the end of the shoot still remained. When Bud saw the crows braving the snakes to snatch shoots of corn, he’d had enough. Infuriated, he went for his shotgun. They disappeared the instant he walked out of the house with it. Trying to get the upper hand, went back in and brought it out in two pieces. They didn’t react to the disassembled shotgun, peacefully plucking corn shoots. He stood behind a tree to put it back together. The instant he snapped it together, they fled, obviously familiar that old trick. Determined not to be defeated, he went for his bow and arrows. What a waste of time!

These crows were obviously smarter than we were. We abandoned our efforts to save the few pitiful shoots left as the smart alecks among them even took to flying off with our useless rubber snakes.

I planted more corn in starter trays on the patio, determined to have corn. Once it got a few inches tall, we transplanted it to the garden. It thrived, growing tall and producing beautifully. We were looking forward to a bumper crop when a fox and her kits got into the garden and ate most of it in one night! They also loved our canteloupe. It’s good to be at one with nature!

Crows in the Corn

We tangled with the crows last summer and came way out on the losing end. They patiently watched us plow, measure, make rows, and plant, showing special interest in the seeds we’d chosen. From their keen attention, we could see they were partial to sweet corn. They practically drooled when it came out of the bag. Continue reading →