Crow. It’s a family name so I really had no reason to fear them. My grandparents were “The Crows” and I adored them. After they passed away, every time I saw a Crow, I would tell my boys, “that’s Great Grandma and Grandpa and they are always around to watch you.” I would continue, “they even tell you when cars are coming, listen….caw-caw!” Corny? Perhaps. Par-for-the-course? Absolutely! My mom never fell for it, she once told me my grandpa had been reincarnated not as a bird, but as a jack-ass. (her words, not mine) She said she once saw one that was the spitting image of him. He is probably rolling around with laughter in his grave, both of them are…hard belly laughs!
It was a hot summer day. I don’t remember what year it was, but I do remember what I was wearing. Based on that…. I am hoping it was a long time ago. I was sporting a coral “BUM” t-shirt, white shorts, white socks and white high top Reeboks. This is an image I have carried around with me for a long time, it has haunted me. Where were my grandparents, “The Crows” on this day?
I had spent the morning/afternoon mowing, weed whacking and hosing. In other words, I was doing the yards. Yep, single handedly….front and back…alone.
Mow, whack, hose.
Mow, whack, hose
It was hot and miserable and my coral “BUM” t-shirt, white shorts, white socks and white high top Reeboks are now dirty and itchy but I had one last job to do. Manicure the bushes. If I didn’t do it, nobody else would. So now… I must
Mow, whack, hose and trim.
I get my great big scissors, er pruners out. Put my long permed hair in a side ponytail and get busy.
I prune to the left,
I prune to the right.
I prune high,
I prune low.
How the broom fits in I am not quite sure but my next memory was an adult crow clung to my neck.
Mow, whack, hose and trim..not a problem. At least not until I hear sounds coming from a freshly pruned bush. But even in my hot and miserable coral “BUM” t-shirt, white shorts, white socks and white high top Reeboks that are now dirty and itchy and my long permed hair in a side ponytail, I must investigate. With all it’s beak and might, it’s got me running around my yard waving a broom a screaming I’m being attacked by a bird. The sucker (no pun intended) would not let go. I was beyond hysterics, flapping my arms and legs in directions I didn’t believe them to be capable of. I was Gumby, Gumby with a broom, and my neighbors were in complete hysterics. Laughing at either my clothes or the fact I was being eaten alive by a bird in my own front yard. I guess the laughter, the roaring laughter was enough for the vulture to call a truce, because he finally let go.
I make it back to the house, though barely. My kids are laughing hysterically. My “BUM” shirt is ripped and I am sporting quite the Crow hickey.That sucker broke my skin.
Once I gathered my witts, I realized this was a terrified mommy crow and the sounds that I chose to investigate were her babies.
I will never live this down especially since I have always told my kids Great Grandpa and Grandma are always around to watch us. But on the brighter side, I didn’t get hit by a car. Somewhere around, they were warning me….Caw-Caw