Raven

Corvus Corax is called a solitary bird. I do get the commoner species, American Crow, here in generous, sometimes Hitchcockian flocks, and have seen them mob a hawk and scourge a lawn clean of every edible scrap.

I think the bird that steals food I put out for local cats is a raven, though.

He (she?) sits on the fence at the back of my property evaluating the prospect, then swoops down to the dish of cheap kibble, scoffs a couple of pieces, and flies back to the fence. Maybe once a week or so. He has a wingspan at least as long as my arm. If this sucker flew into you, you would stagger.

He is always on his own.

Wotan kept Hugin and Munin on his shoulders, Thought and Memory, and the image of birds perching sounds cutesy-wootsy until you see Corvus corax separated from you by only two paces and a pane of glass. You would have to be looking through the wrong end of a telescope to name a basketball team after him, or imagine he gave a (probably prodigious) crap about your lost Lenore. I have more tactile imagination than is good for me and I think of those deeply powerful talons squeezing into the muscle between my neck and collarbone with crude intimacy.

They can learn words, you read.

I have not been quick enough to get his picture (yet). But I imagine him looking into my eyes and telling me things.

I have bats, mice, rabbits, robins, cardinals, raccoons and jays here, and I have the crows and the red-tailed hawks they regularly chase away. Raven might as well share the turf.

File:Ravin flying 2.jpg

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