On Formerly Hating Crows (and Other Murderers)

Hate is a pretty strong word, but hate crows I did, for a long time, and so did my whole family.

Soon after arriving in Victoria from Scotland, we were captivated by the goings on in our back yard. From an upstairs window, we watched in anticipation as a pair of robins built a nest in the apple tree below.

Before long, the nest was complete, tiny blue eggs appeared, and instead of twigs, mum and dad robin brought home worms and insects for their hungry new brood. How we loved that little family!

Looking back, I think we identified with them because we were making a new home too.

In less than a minute, right before or eyes, it ended.

The crows attacked, the robins screamed, we shouted and screamed and ran downstairs, but far too late. Nothing remained except one of the babies, dead on the ground. In that moment, crows became evil incarnate.

I took up BB gunnery and would lay in wait in my sniper's nest in the window upstairs, having sworn vengeance upon any black bird that dared to darken our back yard. However, despite my worst intentions, I was a terrible shot and no crows were harmed.

The robins never came back, and the empty nest remained a cruel reminder for several years until my dad replaced it with a tree house. (Although at the outset I said our whole family hated crows, I don't think my dad actually did. He was a very kind man who rarely spoke ill of anyone.)

Our anger and hatred were unthinking reactions to the violence. Emotion over reason. I suppose, to put it in perspective, we might have considered that crow nestlings are also the victims of predators, few reaching adulthood because of raccoons, squirrels, foxes, hawks, owls, bullfrogs and rats.

We might even have considered the havoc wreaked on unsuspecting worm and insect families by the marauding robins.

More to the point, the crows ate the baby robins because they are crows, not because they chose to.

Said a scorpion to a frog, “Please carry me over the river.”

The frog replied, “I’m afraid you’ll sting me.”

“No, I won’t. If I stung you, we would both perish.”

“Well, OK then.”

Halfway across the river:

“Ouch! Why did you sting me?”

“Because I’m a scorpion.”

I sometimes think I have fully forgiven the crows. Although it feels true, it makes as much sense as forgiving the wind for blowing down a tree.

Forgiving humans. Well that's different, isn't it?

In the news reports that the Boston Marathon Bomber had been sentenced to death we also learned some of the victims had forgiven him.

Different, unimaginably difficult, but surely, necessary.

Image: public domain