Common Crow 



Caw, caw, caw, sounds a grating call in February, and I 

 see a crowd of hungry crows around my old apple tree. The 

 sentinel for the day sits on a bare limb and keeps a wary eye 

 on my yard. Others move about busily on patches of snow 

 under the tree, pleased by the menu of shriveled apples they 

 find there. 



A few crows cling like acrobats to the underside of slen- 

 der branches. They're eating the fat, tender buds at the 

 ends of apple tree twigs. I know that this means some loss 

 in new apple tree leaves, come spring. But I remember, too, 

 that the old tree is host for all sorts of visitors, even acrobat 

 crows. And those black friends are rovers who won't stay 

 around very long. There'll be lots of buds left. 



At that moment a car drives into my lane, and a black 

 cloud of crows arises from the ground, sweeping across an 

 open field and out of sight. 



If you recognize only four birds, chances are that one of 

 them is the crow. Crows are big, black, bold. They're noisy 

 and they're wise. They post guards wherever they stop to 

 rest or feed, and these sentinels croak out an alarm at the 

 first hint of danger. A famous writer once remarked that 

 "if men wore feathers and wings, a very few of them would 

 be clever enough to be crows." 



Crows are useful as scavengers; they'll eat practically any- 

 thing that is edible, be it plant or animal. They may destroy 

 some corn for the farmer, but in payment they also gobble 

 up huge quantities of harmful insects. 



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