I had a pet crow for two years when I was in my early teens in the early 1950's. This story comes from Livonia, Michigan.
My neighbor friend had read a book all about crows and how to successfully retrieve fledgling crows from the nest, care for them, and watch them become wonderful pets. We were very careful to follow each step for an unforgettable adventure: we learned what time of year nesting takes place and when the time came we set out into the nearby woods to find a nest. It was not long before we found one in a rather uncharacteristically accessible location not too high up the tree. We confirmed that there were baby crows in the nest and continued to return as they grew to fledgling size and almost ready to leave the nest on their own.
That day finally came - much to the dismay of the parent crows and despite their attempts to discourage us, we removed five young crows. My parents raised chickens so we had the perfect environment for the crows to be kept in the coop. They faired really well at the start but, for whatever reason, they one by one died off. Each one had been given a name - as it turned out, my crow Ralph was the lone survivor of the group.
The first interesting observation from this early stage is that at night all the crows stayed in their group at the far end of the roost while the chickens stayed at the other. They never mixed into the chicken’s routines due to their deep-rooted instincts. We fed them dog food along with a variety of natural things: worms, bugs etc. We clipped their wings to keep them from flying over the wire fence until it got to where they could fend for themselves and get away from any attacks.
To this day I never gave much thought to the gender of Ralph; it just seemed like a fitting name back then. Our yard had many pines and spruces along with a variety of other types of trees. Ralph roosted in the very same place every night - the Norway pine directly in front of the bay window and close to the front door to keep an eye on everyone.
The neighborhood went abuzz after the first incident occurred not too long after Ralph had some freedom. Ralph had decided that he would peck the lid open on the neighbors’ mail boxes; once open, he'd fly a small loop into the box; next the mail would fly out into the puddle below. It never stopped there - standing on the letter he would try doggedly to pick the stamps off. It was not long into this episode that our neighbors were coming over to report on Ralph’s bad deeds. I had to keep Ralph in the coop for a while and he seemed to learn that it was wrong to tamper with the mail after the confinement period.
Several other things I must mention: Ralph could say hi; also, he imitated the exact sound of two or three dogs that would sometimes be barking with the very same pitch and intervals at a time. He loved to dive down out of the pines and try to land on the bakery delivery man’s hat. I can still see the way Ralph would wait for the perfect moment to make the pass. The man would wave his arms all about like he was afraid. Ralph would sneak behind our dog and yank his tail just to torment. My mother was attempting to plant iris bulbs and each time she would look the other way a bulb would be removed.
The classic experience came on the day that I had gone to get parts for my old car. I had left the garage door partially open and, when I returned, I saw Ralph come scooting out at the sound of me pulling into the driveway. When he started to fly, I noticed a large bolt crosswise in his beak. It was very heavy and Ralph was flapping his wings frantically to get airborne and up to the eaves trough. He dropped the bolt into the trough once reaching it. I had carefully placed various bolts in little piles so I could remember where they went upon reassembly. Well, Ralph had hidden every last bolt under anything that could be found; in this case it happened to be old leaves that had blown in. Under each pile of leaves was an assortment of bolts. What amazed me was he knew that he had done wrong and was in trouble when I returned.
Ralph loved to sit on my shoulder as I walked about the neighborhood - we shared a bonding. He would follow us all the way to the corner where we would board the school bus in the morning. He would sit at the top of the telephone pole and watch until the bus picked us up, then return home and be there every afternoon when we returned.
Ralph began to have visiting crows come around and sort of hang around. Then, after a number of these visits, he seemed to learn that he really belonged with them. There would be a few returns, then Ralph was gone to what I hope was a wonderful full life with his own kind in the wild.
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Rosemary Drisdelle - Rosemary Drisdelle has been published many times as a nonfiction writer and several times as a poet. Her first book, Parasites: Tales of ...
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