Pallid Bust of Pallas

The crows are still around, flying into the neighborhood at dusk and leaving at dawn, thousands of them. They make a racket at those times, as well as whenever they're disturbed during the night. If she hears a rustle of wings on our midnight walk, Taz barks at them, which sets off more flapping, lots of cawing, more barking, more flapping, more cawing, more barking. Sorry, neighbors.

The noise isn't so bad. I'm a lover of language, whether it's my own or that of another species and therefore essentially meaningless to me. They're going over their day I guess, occasionally warning one another about things like my dog, and maybe fighting over who gets the highest perch in the tree.

The droppings are another matter. Pretty disgusting. The snowbanks are orange--I guess they're eating a lot of berries. Cars that have to park on the curb are covered with bird shit. I've taken to wearing a slicker on my walks, just in case.

A little worrisome are the dead crows beginning to litter the landscape. Crows don't live too long, sometimes only a year or two, so with this many hanging around, there are bound to be some casualties. I've got five in my tiny yard alone, I can see several more in the park and court behind me, and I'm running across them in snowbanks as I walk around the neighborhood. Crows are very susceptible to West Nile virus. Could that be what's killing them?

I don't really want to fool around with diseased carcasses. But I have to admit to a fascination with taxidermy. I grew up in a house full of glass cases of raccoons, weasels, foxes, and birds. For $60, a guy on Reimers Road in Monson will stuff a crow. I can't think of too many things I'd rather have in my house than a beady-eyed crow, perched on a pallid bust of Pallas over my door. Too cool!

A Murder of Crows

For the past three days, thousands of crows have been roosting around my house at night, mainly in the park behind me. This is normal cold-weather behavior for these birds. Crows are very sociable, and large roosts afford protection. Cities are warmer than surrounding rural areas, don't allow hunting, and have better lighting. (Lighting is important because crows are afraid of owls, who see better than they do at night. At least in the park they have a shot at spotting nocturnal predators and finding safer cover if necessary.) These large flocks of crows are referred to by scientists studying them as "roosts." The more poetic term is "murder."

Crows are my favorite birds because they are so interesting and intelligent. My own name, Corbett, is derived from corvus, Latin for "crow." Coats of arms of the Corbett family have crows depicted on them. I don't really mind that the crows have decided to move into the neighborhood. But residents who park on the street under the trees might. A murder of crows does leave behind a lot of messy droppings.

Creepy Crows

This morning I was awakened about 4 a.m. by loud, insistent cawing. LOUD, insistent cawing. I listened for a couple of minutes, then got up and dressed and went out on the front porch to see what I could see.

The trees in front of the house were black with crows. The trees behind the house and in the park were even blacker. Every so often, a bunch would start flying, wheeling over the house and then settling back in the trees again.

The Emory House is a dead ringer for the Bates Motel (well, not the motel exactly, but the big house on the hill). In fact, second-empire Victorians are the quintessential haunted houses: very high, spooky and mysterious. With the moon high above it, black branches outlined against the pre-dawn sky, and thousands and thousands of birds cawing and swooping, my house was giving off a very Hitchcockian vibe. I started to snap a few pictures, and then I thought, what if a few of these guys decide for some reason known only to crows to divebomb me?

Crows are my very favorite birds. But thirty thousand of them ganging up around me was really creepy. For a moment I savored the eerie bird happening. Then I went back in the house.