Crow, Anyone?
It was a spring day in 1998 and I was working as a newspaper reporter in the small town of Fallon, outside of Reno. I was also the local "animal lover/dog rescue lady." Typing away at my desk, I heard my phone ring. When I answered it, I heard the familiar voice of our local animal control director, Lynn Holland.
"You have to see this. Can you come up here right now?" she asked.
"Sure," I answered, eager for a break.
When I arrived at the animal shelter, I was introduced to an intriguing two-legged creature, adorned with shiny black feathers. He was hopping around the floor of the shelter office and chasing after Tony, one of the animal control officers. It was a huge, extrememly friendly black crow. Tony and Lynn showed me how it could catch pieces of dog food in its beak.
"Isn't he cool?!" Tony beamed.
They both took turns explaining to me how Tony got called out to the parking lot of a local casino for reports of a crow chasing people. Tony was surprised to discover the crow was completely tame and was only looking for food hand-outs.
"It must be someone's pet," he said.
Oddly, the crow, which had been picked up the evening prior, had taken affectionately to Tony.
"Tony took it home with him last night," explained Lynn.
"Yeah, it hopped around my house chasing me all night after I fed him little bits of hamburger," Tony added.
Tony reached down to offer his arm out and the crow eagerly accepted. I listened, enthralled, as Tony and Lynn went on at length about how friendly this bird was.
"Oh, I've held him all morning!" squealed Lynn.
"Can I hold him?" I asked.
"Sure," piped Tony.
"Are you sure he won't bite?"
"Nah, he's really nice," said Lynn reassuringly, her warm southern drawl boosting my confidence.
As soon as Tony placed him securely on my arm, the sweet, tame crow became crazed, pecking my arm and chest with vicious velocity. Before Tony could grab him back, I had three bloody welts down my arm and a string of red marks trailing dangerously close to my boob. As startled as I was, the three of us found ourselves laughing hysterically as Lynn exclaimed, "It must a boob-pecking crow!"
We could only speculate that the attack was a result of the crow being jealous of me standing too close to Tony or an unintentional attempt to enjoy a tasty meal since I happened to be wearing a watermelon-colored shirt that day. Whatever was going on in that bird's brain, I had a few scars to show for its contempt. From then on, I enjoyed watching it from afar. Lynn always loved to recall with glee the "boob-pecking crow incident." One day, our feathered friend flew away and never returned. Maybe it went home.
In Memory of Lynn Holland, Feb. 4, 1948 to Dec. 3, 2004
You will never be forgotten.
"You have to see this. Can you come up here right now?" she asked.
"Sure," I answered, eager for a break.
When I arrived at the animal shelter, I was introduced to an intriguing two-legged creature, adorned with shiny black feathers. He was hopping around the floor of the shelter office and chasing after Tony, one of the animal control officers. It was a huge, extrememly friendly black crow. Tony and Lynn showed me how it could catch pieces of dog food in its beak.
"Isn't he cool?!" Tony beamed.
They both took turns explaining to me how Tony got called out to the parking lot of a local casino for reports of a crow chasing people. Tony was surprised to discover the crow was completely tame and was only looking for food hand-outs.
"It must be someone's pet," he said.
Oddly, the crow, which had been picked up the evening prior, had taken affectionately to Tony.
"Tony took it home with him last night," explained Lynn.
"Yeah, it hopped around my house chasing me all night after I fed him little bits of hamburger," Tony added.
Tony reached down to offer his arm out and the crow eagerly accepted. I listened, enthralled, as Tony and Lynn went on at length about how friendly this bird was.
"Oh, I've held him all morning!" squealed Lynn.
"Can I hold him?" I asked.
"Sure," piped Tony.
"Are you sure he won't bite?"
"Nah, he's really nice," said Lynn reassuringly, her warm southern drawl boosting my confidence.
As soon as Tony placed him securely on my arm, the sweet, tame crow became crazed, pecking my arm and chest with vicious velocity. Before Tony could grab him back, I had three bloody welts down my arm and a string of red marks trailing dangerously close to my boob. As startled as I was, the three of us found ourselves laughing hysterically as Lynn exclaimed, "It must a boob-pecking crow!"
We could only speculate that the attack was a result of the crow being jealous of me standing too close to Tony or an unintentional attempt to enjoy a tasty meal since I happened to be wearing a watermelon-colored shirt that day. Whatever was going on in that bird's brain, I had a few scars to show for its contempt. From then on, I enjoyed watching it from afar. Lynn always loved to recall with glee the "boob-pecking crow incident." One day, our feathered friend flew away and never returned. Maybe it went home.
In Memory of Lynn Holland, Feb. 4, 1948 to Dec. 3, 2004
You will never be forgotten.
posted by Heather | 3:51 PM
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