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There is a crow quietly dying in my backyard tonight. I don't know how old it is. I don't know if it's male or female. But I'm fairly certain it isn't long for this world. Often the only way to distinguish between crows seems to be by spotting some sort of physical abnormality, which unfortunately often appears as a result of injury or illness. Such was the case with this little fellow. I'm not sure when I first noticed him (or her). Perhaps a few weeks ago, maybe longer. I noticed a crow with a couple bumps in the skin around one of its eyes, a likely indicator of cutaneous avian pox. He was otherwise alert, active, and appeared quite capable of feeding himself and getting about. I took notice, but that's about all there was to do, notice.
Over the following weeks I noticed the number of growths around his eyes appeared to be increasing, but he still seemed otherwise alright. Any attempts to approach him (with the intention of taking him in for potential treatment) seemed impossible. He flew away at the slightest indication that I was doing anything besides tossing out nuts or taking photos. But yesterday, when I spotted him foraging on the ground in the backyard, it became apparent that his vision was by now either completely gone or nearly so. All the other crows flew away as soon as I opened the backdoor, but he did not. It took him much longer than usual to notice my presence, but even so, as soon as he did he took to the air, landed briefly on the garage roof and then flew away.
This evening shortly after eight o'clock, as I was looking out through the kitchen window into the backyard, I noticed a crow perched up high on a branch of the holly tree. Its head was tucked completely out of sight, so it appeared to be fast asleep. But the crows do not roost in the backyard. They gather in nearby treetops as the sky fades and, shortly after sunset, fly off en masse to wherever they roost together, somewhere to the north. Aside from brief afternoon dozing, I've never seen a bird so fast asleep in the backyard and never a crow. They're almost always exceptionally alert and watchful. This bird was so still that I began to wonder if it was even sleeping. I used the zoom lens on my camera to get a better look. That was when I noticed that one of its legs was hanging limply from its body, so very wrong. It was a sickening sight. My heart sank. I kept on watching it and eventually it did stir a little. It lifted its head just long enough for me to identify it as the crow with the damaged eyes. Then he defecated and tucked his head away again.
The limp leg could be lameness resulting from avian pox or an injury sustained as a result of his impaired vision. Considering the weather, he was also very likely dehydrated. Weak and ill, exhausted and broken, as the light was draining from the sky and his comrades were noisily flying north, he had apparently decided to end the day in our holly tree. Had this unfortunate bird, in his vulnerable state, decided to stop somewhere familiar when he was too weak to go home? It's hard to resist anthropomorphizing the animals that congregate in our yard. My fondness for them and the pleasure I get from feeding and watching them are boundless. So I cannot help but wonder is he frightened? Lonely? Most importantly, is he in pain?
It's then that I recall a poem by D.H. Lawrence, entitled "Self-Pity"
"I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself."
He didn't seem to be aware of his surroundings much at all. He would stir occasionally, but only slightly. Perched up high, out of reach and also out of harm's way, all I could do was stand below and watch him. It might sound melodramatic, but I felt like the lone witness to his fate. I cannot reach you, I cannot help you, but I can keep you company, even if you aren't aware of my presence (which is probably for the best, since my presence would probably only cause you distress if you noticed). I stayed out there until the darkness was such that I could no longer discern his shape amongst the branches.
I can only hope this poor little crow, still handsome despite his deformity, has drifted off to sleep and will pass peacefully out of existence during the night. If I wake in the morning to find his little body, I will bury him in the backyard. Sad as it is, I rather hope this is what comes to pass so I don't have to wonder at his absence should I wake to find him gone from his perch. Even sadder still is that thought that no one will be there to catch him when he falls.faster hair growth
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