I like crows.
No one else seems to, but I do. They may be scavengers, and eaters of the dead, but they have personality.
The other day, one was sitting on the roof-cornice of the library as I was walking back with my lunch. Black feathers turned silver, purple, blue in the glint of sunlight. Raising its wings half-way, I watched it stretch out its head and caw three or four times in quick succession. Then, it shook its head, feathers all ruffled up like a chicken, and settled back onto the corner.
I talked to it. It cawed back to me, acting indignant that I had food and would not give it even a tiny morsel.
I hear they’re pretty smart, too.
Yep. I think they’re kind of neat.