A long time ago, I lived in a tiny house in Nova Scotia. It was at the back of a dirt driveway in the shadow of a much bigger house. A neighbour told me that it used to be a garage, but was made into a little home for her grandfather. I had a small front yard with a rhododendron bush, blackberries on a raised area along the side, a gully on the other side, and a decent-sized backyard with older trees and an open grassy area for relaxing in a lawn chair, or for my dog to do her business. I often observed birds, squirrels, and raccoons standing guard over our common territory.
One day, while looking out the kitchen window, I saw a crow land on the branch of a tree. Soon, a slightly larger crow landed beside that one, and shortly after, two juveniles settled on the branch above. The first crow did not seem very happy with the second one. I imagined the first to be the wife, the second her husband, the other two their children. Wife crow started berating her husband with angry squawks, getting louder and louder until finally hubby hopped down to a lower branch.
That did not stop her from continuing her barrage. One of the kids jumped down to Mom’s branch to intervene on Dad’s behalf, and to calm Mom down. No luck: she started scolding the kid instead. That offspring hopped back up to its sibling. Mom continued her tirade until Dad finally had had enough, and flew away. Mom waited a moment, then took off after him. The youngsters sat there another minute or two, commiserating, then they took wing.
I went back to doing dishes.
