Hard to imagine crows as songbirds, isn't it? I was surprised when I first heard they are, too.
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"You call that croak a song?!" Well, I can't sing very prettily, either, and I call my yowling "singing", so who am I to criticize my feathered brethren?...
Today I was awake before the sun broke the horizon, and was treated once again to the avian Sunrise Concert. I sat outside on the back steps, closed my eyes and listened to all the songs of the morn.
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When I was a child, someone read me a pourquoi story about some tribe's belief that birds sang the sun up each day. That was why(pourquoi) people began keeping birds as pets, to be certain there was at least one bird around to carry out the task.
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This morning, I could understand the thinking of those ancient ones, because, as I listened with eyes shut to the world, I felt the rising sun's heat on my cheeks and throat. When I opened my eyes - lo! and behold! - the sun was, indeed, rising over the rooftops at the end of the alley! The world was safe and warm for another day. Life was good, all because of the birds.
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The crow family that thinks it owns my yard and my trees (they do, of course; I just pay the taxes on the property) joined the other birds in the sun-bringing ritual. Bless their little corvid hearts! They try so hard to warble but it just doesn't come out that way....
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Eventually, the sun is far enough above the horizon that the concert winds down and most of the birds fly off, searching for whatever heads their individual to-do lists for Sunday morning. The crows are the last to leave and they do so quietly, in sharp contrast to how they arrived.
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My daughter's cats join me on the steps, looking for attention, bumping against my wrist and hand until I pet them. For a couple of minutes, we three creatures lean against each other, basking in the gentle warmth of the early sun's rays.
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"Mwawk!"
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The two cats sit upright, ears scanning the backyard to locate the sound.
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"Mwawk, mwawk." A crow has returned. I think it is one of last year's brood, judging by the gap in primary feathers on its left wing.
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The cats, who probably have had unpleasant encounters with crows, slink off to their outdoor hide-away, low to the ground, as inconspicuously as possible for big, fluffy cats. They are comical to watch.
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Mwawk is soon joined by another crow. They hop up to the topmost branch of the larch, which bends almost in half under their combined weight. They begin to 'sing' to one another.
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The second crow, whose call is more like "Kwawk" instead of "Mwawk," throws its head back and calls four times. Its call sounds like laughter: "Kwawk-kwawk-kwawk-kwawk!" (Mwawk must have said something funny. I didn't get the joke, but, then, I wasn't meant to, probably.)
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They entertain each other this way for half a minute or so, then grow quiet. They move closer to each other and rub their beaks together. I've never seen crows do this before and am astonished.
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Softly, they mwawk and kwawk to each other, rubbing beaks between sets of calls. Fascinating!
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Mwawk leans over Kwawk's neck and begins to coo. "Coo" isn't exactly the right word, but the sound reminds me of dove cooing. This sound is more like gargling, which I've heard crows do before, but never in conjunction with the behavior I observe this morning. Kwawk makes a softer cooing in response and leans in a little closer to Mwawk. They sit quiet, then, facing the sun.
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I am stunned! What does this behavior mean? Are they bonding? Is this the yearling, reassuring the younger crow under its care? Has the yearling found a mate?
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While I'm thinking through the few things I know about crow behavior, Mwawk and Kwawk begin bowing and gargle-cooing toward one another. For usually raucous, ungainly big birds, they are gentle and delicate in their movements and sounds. I suddenly feel awkward, which is silly of me, I guess, but I feel like an intruder or voyeur, peeping in on a moment where I do not belong.
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Kwawk stops bowing and cooing. Instead, she/he (I can't determine which) begins making a sound similar to that made by tapping two blocks of wood together - a soft "tock-tock." Mwawk does the same, only his/hers sounds like "bawk-bawk."
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I wanted a closer view and tried to ease my way back into the house for my binoculars. The first slight move I made to rise from the step caused the crows to turn in my direction: both let out a very loud "CAW!" and flew off toward the arboretum a couple of blocks away.
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Blast, and double-blast! God bless a milk-cow! I hate when that happens! Grump!
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On the other hand, how fortunate I was to have been given this glimpse of new-to-me crow behavior. If I am lucky, maybe I will get to watch the continuing story unfold next Sunday morning...and you can be darned sure I will have those binoculars with me before I step foot outside again!
(c) 2009 Martha McLemore
