Musings under the twilight sky

An ode to a feathered friend

Flapping his way through, in sync with the gentle twilight breeze, full of grace and poise, he arrives by my side, a low guttural croak in the form of a greeting. I smile and pretend to not notice. He never kaws, doesn't prompt any attention like the others do, just patiently stands by.

As I peep above my book, he shifts his claw and nudges his head on the metal railing, expressing his disapproval. I place my novel aside and shake my head. He's just too hard to ignore even when I fight the urge to reach out. I quickly grab his favorite brand of biscuit, break it down into small pieces and place it on the metal landing, a little away from him. As I stand back, he hops forth, croaks his joy, grabs the piece and flocks away.

Crows. Fierce, yet loyal creatures. They are aplenty in my locality and we have the privilege of serving them their daily bread, beverage and snack.
We also cater out on special occasions like the mating season, after a group meeting(communal roosting) or when it's raining outside. Our specialities include clear water ( to beat the heat or to soften your meal of the day )and the occasional papadom treat.

Our service starts as early at 5:30 AM with one persistent and active customer of ours, who demands a energy boost before her morning flight, followed by a bunch of friendly ones who stop by for a sip of clear water and a biscuit and then the little, sluggish ones appear, fending off their allies and fighting for the crumbs.

I can't pinpoint as to when my unhealthy obsession with the creatures of the genus Corvus started, but I find them excellent models to study animal/avian behavior. I have always found the communal cooperative aspect among crows, fascinating. They seem to alert their fellow compadres about potential sources of food as well as communicate across danger signals. They are claimed to be the most intelligent of avian species and also the ones that have best adapted to the modern, civilized world. I have been obsessed with them long enough to vouch for all that. So much so that I can characterize the ones I meet daily during my musing sessions, according to their unique personalities. There's a sneaky one, a super aggressive one that loves bread, the notoriously naughty one that bullies the neighbourhood kites, a big jungle crow (who appears to be all macho but is actually such a softie at heart when he shares his portions), the annoyingly loud one that kaws my ear -off and of course, my favourite - 'Hop along' ( as he was duly christened by Author DanGarrett ).

As the noises of the the impending dusk creep in, he timidly perches atop the sill, extremely wary of his surroundings, watching out for predators and shifts using his one good leg.

He's an outcast. Considered different, looked down upon and bullied by his fellow feathered brethren. He never lets anyone come close, it took me about two whole months to befriend him. He's extremely timid and always stays below the radar. He's hard to find, especially during the post-sunset homecalls and generally soughts me out after I am done feeding the others.

When I found him, he had lost one of his claws and most of the primary feathers, part of his plumage.
It was quite a harsh summer and the birds had flocked in to quench their thrist. As I took out yet another big cookie ( I swear I spoil them so much, I wonder if they even hunt/forage anymore), he appeared at an distance and looked up at me with his typical sad, hungry expression.

I threw a piece in his direction, only to have a greedy crow pounce on it, successfully scaring him away. I sighed and continued hoping that he'll come back. But he didn't.

The next evening as I bid adieu to the simmering sun, I found him in the same spot, holding on with all his might, but with the same stoic, sad expression. I rummaged through my camera bag for another biscuit, only to find a few crumbs left. As I stepped forward, mumbling my apology for bringing less (They make me feel so guilty some days), he appeared startled, hastlity got to his feet and flew away. After two other unsuccessful attempts, I emerged triumphant in shooing away his bullies, only to have him scoop away a piece at an unimaginable speed.