The Beaked Mafia

"Behind every successful fortune there is a crime."

When we moved to our house on our partial-acreage, our neighbour gifted us some strawberry plants that she had dug while thinning out her patch. We promptly planted them in a raised garden box in the large garden area at the back of our yard. It was the first step toward our dream of growing fruits and vegetables to feed our family, of creating a bountiful yard where our kids could pick and eat nutritious snacks wherever they went, whenever they chose.

Our strawberry crop was non-existent that first year as the plants established themselves. The following year, we watched with excitement as the plants bloomed, then burst forth with tiny green berries. Our mouths watered as we anticipated the sweet taste of the delicious summer treats we planned to make: strawberry jam, strawberry pastries, strawberry sundaes.

But, alas, it was not to be. Before we could pick a single berry, the local bird population swooped in and picked the patch clean. We'll have to put a cage over the patch, we thought, but decided to put it off until the following spring. And while we were procrastinating, our problem was solved for us.

A murder of crows moved into the neighbourhood.

Courtesy of Pixabay. My crows were mysteriously absent when I tried to get a photo.

We didn't notice them much at first, other than hearing the occasional "Caw! Caw!" call from the treetops. But one day, while weeding our garden, I caught a glimpse of red in the strawberry patch. Upon closer inspection, I discovered that the patch was teeming with ripe, uneaten strawberries. It seems the crows were keeping the other birds at bay, protecting our berry crop.

"Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer."

A beautiful, albeit dumb, robin built her nest on our power meter. It was at eye level for our kids, who enjoyed peaking in on the three blue eggs contained within. They couldn't wait for the eggs to hatch into tiny baby birds. But then, one day, the eggs were gone. The nest lay on the ground, destroyed. The robin had disappeared.

In fact, all of the smaller birds that used to grace our yard had disappeared: the robins, the wrens, the swallows, the hummingbirds.

The only birds that remained were the crows. They ruined the peaceful quiet of the afternoon with their incessant squacking: Caw! Caw! Caw! Caw! Caw!

They strutted around the yard, brazenly stopping to fluff their shiny black feathers, fearlessly staring me down if I wandered to close. Was this normal crow behaviour? Or the start of an Edgar Allen Poe poem?

"The crows have to go," I later said to my husband. "Enough is enough."

But how? We live within town limits, meaning we aren't allowed to shoot them. Nor did I want to poison them. In fact, I didn't really want to kill them at all. I just wanted them to go away. After some quick research, we decided that the best solution to get rid of the crows would be to buy a fake owl and set it up in the yard.

But before we could make our move, things took a turn for the worse.

"I'll make him an offer he can't refuse."

Suddenly, the small birds returned. Or at least bits and pieces of them did. We began to find their remains scattered across the lawn: a head here, legs there, feathers everywhere.

I didn't read too much into it at first, other than to think, "Oh, that's why they're called a murder!" But then, one sunny afternoon, I was strolling past our bird bath when I caught a whiff of an awful stench. I peaked into the shallow basin and found the rotting remains of a robin, its body ripped to smithereens.

My bird bath had become a blood bath. The crows were sending a message.

And now we are at a standstill. I hear them calling in the trees. I see them watching me as I work in the garden. And I wonder who will make the next move, how this will all shakedown.

But if watching the Godfather -- or the Sopranos -- has taught me anything, its that my territorial war with the crows is unlikely to have a happy end.

If you enjoyed this post, resteem, upvote and follow @redhens, and check out some of my other posts:

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Or my posts on writing:

• Writing Grit: Verbing Nouns
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• RedHens Writing Advice: Telling Your Story
• Writing Grit: The Five-Minute Edit
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