Caw! Caw! Caw!

The crow sits on my fence at 6 AM.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

He is waiting to steal dog food for breakfast.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

I am ready to shoot the annoying bird. Illegal, I know.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

I have briefly considered a scarecrow, but it would take up my whole Californian backyard.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

I am not particularly fond of crows.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

I remember sitting on my front porch swing in Montana with my little boy. We watched a couple crows swoop into a little ornamental tree in the front yard. The thick green leaves were accented with bright red buds. When the crows disappeared into the foliage, immediately the shreiking of birds reverberated through the street, as the leaves and branches shook violently. Then a small songbird fell to the ground, as the bullies flew away.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

Dead.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

My little boy asked me, "Why?"

I still do not know.

Caw! Caw! Caw!