You see, a little over a week ago I was sitting in the woodshed listening to the squeaking and rustling of a squirrel and family in the firewood pile. I was worrying about them because I worry about weird things. I was also worried because I had used up most of the third row of firewood and would soon be removing wood from the second row.
From time to time she’ll pop out of her nest, climb up on the rafters and look down at me. Sometimes she even directs profanity my way as she stamps her feet and gets all worked up.
So, there I was, sitting in the woodshed, looking at the large expanse of snow covering our property, when I suddenly saw a Blue Jay smash her noggin into a snow drift. The poor Blue Jay was flailing and flapping around and not getting anywhere soon, except to screw himself or herself deeper into the snow.
As soon as I arrived he or she stopped thrashing about and I was able to stoop down and touch the bird. He or she never made a move. I was able to pick the jay up and walk us back to the woodshed.
While walking I talked to the Blue Jay. Told him or her that I wouldn’t hurt him or her.
By the way, from this point on I’m going to call the Blue Jay a her.
So I spoke to her and tried to calm her and the Blue Jay actually turned her head and looked at me while I was talking, as if she was really listening. This I found rather strange and humbling. It was a very intelligent reaction from a wild critter.
We noticed, after this incident, that one of the many Blue Jays who frequent our Big Stop bird feeder wasn’t very energetic. She hung around the bird feeder or sat on the ground or on a branch and was lethargic, and at one point I went outside and approached the bird and had to nudge her before she’d fly away.
Later on, when I was in the grocery store, the clerk mentioned that those crows are really going at it somewhere in town. I knew that it was the Murder of Crows who were watching one of their own murder a crow at another unmentioned location.
When Buster and I looked out the window we saw that the crows were in the trees cheering on one crow who was pecking a poor Blue Jay to death. Most likely the Blue Jay who I had picked up about a week before.
By the time I got outside the Blue Jay was dead. Thus the name Murder of Crows.