An interesting story is told of a Crow of this species which had been tamed and petted until it behaved much as would a spoiled child. “Old Crusty,” as he was called, would actually take the food away from the dog while he was eating, not by open encounter, for that would have deprived him of his fun. But he would tease the poor canine until he barked from vexation, then snatch up the prey and triumphantly bear it off to a neighboring tree, where he ate it at his leisure, while the dog stood looking at him and uselessly venting his rage in loud, threatening barks.
The annual “muster” of the Crows, like that of blackbirds, is a scene very amusing, as well as mysterious. It has been my privilege to witness a few such gatherings, but to me there seemed more noise than meaning. It is said by naturalists, however, that the most extraordinary meetings of the Crows occur in northern Scotland. There they collect in great numbers, as if they had all been summoned for the occasion; a few of the flock sit with drooping heads, and others seem grave as judges, while others again are exceedingly active and noisy. One authority says: “These meetings will sometimes continue for a day or so before the object, whatever it may be, is completed. Crows continue to arrive from all quarters during the session. As soon as all have arrived a very general noise ensues, and shortly after the whole fall upon one or two individuals and put them to death. When the execution has been performed they quietly disperse.”
The Chough is a red-legged Crow and is one of the most mischievous birds of his genus. He carefully examines everything he finds, then carries it away if he can. And if there be a collection of anything to which he has access, he is sure to scatter it in all directions. Those which have been converted into pets have proven very affectionate, but they are easily offended and will often vent their spite in a most annoying yet very amusing manner.
The Raven is very much like the Crow in his habits, but is more given to fighting and to burglary than his shy cousin. He is a great tease, also, and will often attack children and even grown up people just for fun. By this it can be seen that the Raven is more susceptible to taming than the Crow, while no old Crow can steal so many articles or hide them as completely as the Raven. They are quick to make friends with dog or man, but, like the Chough, are very troublesome foes when once offended.
The Rook is a European bird, and though the farmer recognizes in him a destroyer of his young crops, he must admit that without the Rook he would save little or none of his crop. Worms constitute the favorite food of this bird, wherefore many a husbandman has learned that it is best to endure the disadvantages of a rookery merely for the sake of his harvests. For one queer habit of Rooks is that they will frequent the same spot all their lives, and it is next to impossible to dislodge them from their abode.
The Jackdaws are the boldest of the genus, and have a very remarkable “don’t care” look. They frequent high towers, hollow trees, and even appropriate to their own use the loftiest parts of the English castles. They choose their mates for life, and do not live in communities. They assemble in flocks, however, when cherries begin to ripen and will soon rob a tree if the owner is not on guard.
An amusing story is told of a tame Jackdaw. While pilfering one day he found a half-glass of whisky which had been left upon a table, and on tasting it, he liked it so much that he drank a quantity. In a few moments symptoms of intoxication began to appear; his wings dropped and his eyes were half-closed. He staggered towards the edge of the table, probably intending to fly to the floor, but he had either lost the power of his wings or he was afraid to trust them. He stood, seemingly meditating what he should do, all the while reeling like a drunken man about to lose his balance. Presently his eyes were shut and he fell over on his back with his legs in the air, exhibiting every sign of death.
An attempt was made to put some water down his throat, but he could not swallow it. He was then rolled in a piece of flannel, laid in a box and locked away in a closet. All the family, with whom he was a great pet, never expected to see him on his legs again. Next morning about six o’clock the door was opened, with the expectation of finding Jackie dead, but he had freed himself from the flannel and as soon as the door was open he flew out and hurried away to a basin-shaped stone, out of which the fowls drank, and copiously allayed his thirst. He repeated this several times that day and was none the worse for his exploit, but, with more forbearance than those who are endowed with reason, he never again would touch whisky.
Claudia May Ferrin.