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Crow in My Kitchen

Since I had a few requests for the story of the White Crow, I'll put it up.  Though I must warn you...it is a sad story that still makes me melancholy when I think about it.  Anyway, here is the original story as it was written from June 2002.  I'll post the follow-up tomorrow.

Walking the dog after a damp, misty rain this morning, I stand on the sidewalk, my shoulders hunched in my rain jacket, one hand playing with the key ring in my pocket. The dog pads across the sidewalk to bury her nose in the wet grass of the lawn. I am stumbling around, physically and emotionally. This week my doctor confronted me about being tested for Multiple Sclerosis. The news broke like a bottle upon my head. I am young, newly married and now I am suffering debilitating mini-seizures, gripping depression, weakness on my left side and struggling with my memory. Walking the dog is no longer a pleasant chore, it is a monumental task.

Further ahead on the sidewalk, something faces me. It looks like a seagull. It opens its mouth and a squeaky "caw" comes out. Which doesn't quite make sense. Looks like a seagull, sounds like a crow?

I keep walking along and it doesn't move. Doesn't budge. Just watches me walk toward it. I had kept a few birds when I was growing up, so my first thought is, "Oh no. Someone's pet has escaped!" Quickly going into heroine mode, I decide to rescue this bird and return it to its worried owner somewhere in the vicinity. I walk toward it. The bird paces back and forth on the sidewalk but it doesn't fly off. I walk right up to it. I offer it my arm. The bird climbs on as a tame bird would. I look around for open windows, nests, other birds. Nothing. All is quiet on my street.

I check out Bird. Looks like a crow, except for its coloring. An albino crow? No, it has deep blue eyes. Is it a strange breed from an exotic locale? Possibly. I shift my arm slightly to get a look at its wing feathers...are they clipped? Maybe clipped, but I can't really tell. And the Bird doesn't take off. It seems content to be on my arm. No heavy, excited panting from Bird that would indicate fear. In fact, it seems pretty fearless. Definitely seems to act like a tame bird. This has to be an white Myna bird, perhaps. Or something else from an exotic locale that has wandered off or has been abandoned by a departing college student. That is a pretty common fate for pets on campus at the end of a school year.

I whistle for the dog, walk home with Bird on arm. Heading to the kitchen, I shut Dave the (over enthusiastic) cat in the dining room. I try to think of what to do next. I have to teach tonight at the University and I don't want to leave Bird alone in the house with the cat and dog. Bird opens and closes its beak and I think, "Hmm. Hungry. Or thirsty." I'm pitifully short on food.  Our refrigerator is bare. I offer Bird a cherry. Bird doesn't seem to want that. I pull out a kitchen chair and finally coax Bird onto the back of the chair. Now I conduct a thorough rummaging of the pantry. Come up an old hamburger bun. I pull it apart into little pieces and offer it to Bird who opens its mouth expectantly. Something in my mind begins to click. Fledgling behavior? I drop a piece of bread in the wide, waiting mouth. Feed it a few more pieces. Bird is content. But I'm worrying about nutrition. Hamburger buns just don't have it. I need to figure out what Bird needs. I wish I had something juicier for it to eat so that it could get some liquid. I offer it a cup of water. It dips its beak in a few times and seems satisfied. 

Now that Bird is sated for the moment, I settle in to call around and ask about lost birds. No one, it seems, has reported one. I call the local police and animal rescue and vets and pet stores. "What kind is it?" they ask. I describe Bird. "No clue," they say, after first testing my bird knowledge a little bit. They don't seem to believe my description. I can tell they think I'm possibly a little nutty or just really bad at classifying things. "Look," I say. "I have experience with birds...and I'm a teacher." As if this will grant me the credibility I am seeking. I call the zoo...no clues there either.  They tell me that they don't take indigenous birds. Two wildlife rescue organizations treat me like I'm bothering them, "It can't be indigenous. We can't take it unless it is a native species." Between calls, I talk to Bird. "What are you?" Bird fixes one deep blue eye on me. No answer from Bird.

But the clock is ticking, I'm not sure how long the kitchen door will hold the cat in the dining room as he hurls his body against it, and I don't know what to do. I don't want to put Bird back  the ground outside with all of the neighborhood cats on the loose. So I shrug my coat back on and offer my arm to Bird, who steps on. We walk to my car in the garage downstairs. I keep expecting Bird to take flight, but it doesn't.

Once in the car, I throw an old towel over the passenger seat headrest and perch Bird there. I walk up and down the block again, knocking on doors with Bird in car. Bird fluffs up its feathers, snuggles down on the towel, and preens happily. It is very cold outside and the car is warm. No one knows Bird or has seen anyone looking for a lost bird. I drive to the Animal Shelter. Bird and I size each other up at traffic lights in silence. The Animal Warden offers to take Bird and produces a small cat carrier for transport. I hesitate. "What will happen to it?" I ask her. "Well" she says matter-of-factly, "Maybe someone in the office can take it. But we don't keep birds, so, then..." Her voice trails off and she looks at me. "Then what?" I ask. "Well, then we'd euthanize it." I gently put Bird back in the car. "Um, no thanks. I'll keep looking around."

I drive to a local vet. The vet checks out Bird and is enchanted with it. "Beautiful! And so healthy looking!" she keeps saying. "It certainly looks like a crow...but the blue eyes..." She sends all the vet minions out to the car to see Bird. They are all awed. She promises to call an animal rehabilitator that she knows and takes my cell phone number.

I take Bird around to the pet store to see if they can ID him and suggest food. They fall in love with Bird but cannot keep it. They suggest meal worms. Bird is now, literally, stopping traffic. A man jumps out of his truck and runs over. "What kind of bird is that? Is that a white crow?" "I don't know," I say. Another woman pleads with me to follow her to her apartment building. "There is a man there. He has birds!" I am doubtful. I just want to get Bird out of there. There are so many people.

Bird and I sit in the car and contemplate each other. "Bird, I am sorry this is so confusing." Bird cocks its head at me. The cell phone rings. It is a woman (near my house no less!) who takes in animals for rehabilitation. She sounds delighted and very knowledgeable about birds. I drive over to her house, get out of the car and fill her in on the story thus far. 

The crows in the trees above her house begin to caw. The Bird gets restless and begins to pace in the back window. I talk to it gently, "It's okay, Bird. We've got some lunch for you and we'll feed you inside." I offer my arm to it in the car. It steps on my arm, but then steps off again. Doesn't seem to want to leave the car, paces some more in the back window. It finally takes to my arm. I slowly duck out of the car. The crows caw. And Bird does a short, little flap/glide into a tree outside of this woman's second story window. 

Other crows seem to fly in from everywhere to gather in the trees above. So Bird extends his wings and flies (?) straight up into the oak trees toward the crows. My mouth has dropped open. Bird could fly this whole time? The whole three hours I have been walking around with Bird, Bird could fly? A few crows begin pecking and flapping at Bird, but another crow takes an interest and comes to Bird's defense, chasing off the other crows. The black crows snap little branches of the oak tree off in their beaks and shake them menacingly at Bird. But Bird holds his ground.  We stand on the sidewalk and watch this drama for about an hour.  How can we get to Bird?  Protect him?  He is easily thirty feet up in these trees. Some neighbors come out carrying their baby. "Is that a WHITE crow?" The husband asks, amazed. "Um, we think it is," we reply. "Stop that!!! Leave him alone, crows!!!" the wife shouts from the street into the tree, shaking her fist. We stand around feeling pretty helpless.

I have to go teach. It is the last night of class at the University. But I don't want to leave. Suddenly, I am emotional about Bird. Will he be okay? Will the other crows hurt him or accept him? The animal rehabilitator, Rebecca, reassures me that she will keep an eye on Bird (who is now outside the window of her third floor.) I tear myself away, get into my car, and drive to class.

My class is excited about their last night. They've brought wine and cheese and fruit and cake. I survey the goods and think, "Bird would have loved this." I drive home from class in the dark and turn onto Rebecca's street. I walk slowly up the sidewalk between the streetlights, my eyes scanning the trees and the underbrush. But all of the crows are roosting for the evening. I worry about Bird, white and visible to predators in the dark.

I talk to Doris from the Audubon Society of Illinois. She confirms that, very rarely, white crows do exist in nature. I offer to send her pictures. She gently breaks the news to me..."But they don't seem to live very long in the wild...the white ones..."

I call Rebecca before lunch, my curiosity overwhelming me. She opens her third floor window and describes Bird to me. It's still in tree. Still on the same branches. The wary crows are prowling around in the other branches. I can hear Bird's hungry caws plainly through my cell phone. His caw is a fledgling call..."Feed me! Food please!" She tells me that he will periodically try to hop fly to another branch toward this crow or that...beak open. He's hungry. My heart breaks. I stop over in my car. We hang out for awhile and talk about our various experiences with rescuing wildlife. I trust her. She seems to have Bird's best interests in mind. Hopefully, Bird is at the point in its fledglingship where it will figure out how to fend for itself.

I drive around, do my errands, listen to National Public Radio, and think about Bird. I stop by Borders and there is practically nothing there on crows. At home, I walk the dog past the spot where Bird found me. The dog noses around in the wet grass. And I wonder.

Posted by jeanne on November 6, 2006 at 1:45 PM (13)

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