Note on Perch System

Behold, the "universal" perch holder. Two mounted to walls with white glue can accommodate a variety of perch diameters, and the height of the perch will only vary an inch or two. Perches can even be different diameters at opposite ends!

My philosophy is, install something which makes removal, replacement, and cleaning of perches as easy and simple as possible because anything that's a hassle is going to eventually compromise your birds' health. Period.

Please note, the other side holder (not shown) has no top bar, as it'll block perches from being lowered down into the holder.

60 degrees is best. Use a thin block of balsa at the end lowered in last to help it slide down smoothly and wedge in tight between the two holders.

You can remove perch holders with boiling water which melts white glue on contact. This system is only good in totally dry aviaries, otherwise use another non toxic glue that's waterproof. White glue can stand up to washing, but not extended wet from rain.

Note: Don't use toxic glues if you have birds that can nibble wood. Also, don't use nails, screws or any metal parts as they can maim or injure birds if they become exposed. There are no metal parts here. The perch is mainly supported by the pressure between the walls, and the very tight fit. Again, a sheet of balsa helps slide the last end of the perch down, yet become very snug. The V grooves are mostly providing secondary support, and should not be relied on entirely to support a perch. Loose perches can rotate, causing injury to birds. It is important to have snuggly nestled perches. Gently tap the perch down to rest in the V, being careful not to damage the V support. 

Anyway, these have worked well for me and I've got a big heavy Crow diving, leaping, jumping, and prancing on her perches from two meters up in the air all day long, pounding away, and never have had a perch failure.

Notes on Fig's Mom and Dad

Fig's Mom and Dad have been acquainted with me since the very first day she fledged at around 4-6 weeks of age, and fell from her 12th floor nest due to an injury she suffered in the nest. They have seen me out with Fig over the last two years at parks, and on walks, and they simply know who I am, and that Fig is with me. It does not matter what I wear, even a hat, sunglasses, a bicycle, or an umbrella cannot sufficiently disguise me. They usually spot me when I am walking my son to school in the morning, and when I am walking around my neighborhood in the afternoon. It used to be that only Fig's Mom really cared to say anything to me, and it was usually a long scolding along the lines of, "You! I see you! I know you! You have my daughter!!! Hey everyone, over here, here he is, the kidnapper!!!"

But recently there have been some big changes in the way the parents interact with me. Recently the mother does not scold me, she just says, Hi in a usual way, anouncing herself to me. The father also greets me, and he never used to say a word if Fig was not with me. They both now follow me for two or three blocks, and their body language is very relaxed. They fly high above me in relaxed gliding circles. Then they perch in separate places, creating a triangle of the three of us, and call, at me, at least I assume it is me because they are both facing me, but it isn't scolding, it's just calm, intermittent greeting. "I'm here." "I see you." "Hey!" Sort of a thing.

Another interesting development is that they are now not only following me when they happen to see me around, but they are actually looking for me at specific times of my usual schedule. They know where I will be, and when I will be there. They have known these things for a couple of years, but only recently have they started to use the information to locate me. It's as if finding me has become their hobby. I'm a living breathing Where's Waldo for two Crows! They know when I am on the way to school, and show up consistently. They know when I am picking up my son from extra curricular activities, and they show up there too. Just the two of them, not any of Fig's brothers or sisters. I'll see brothers and sisters sometimes, and they'll talk to Fig, or say, "Hey, it's that guy!" but they take a very short interest, even if Fig is with me, and soon move on. In contrast, the parents linger with me at parks, whether Fig is there or not. They have become my lonely in-laws.

Their attention is not the least bit bothersome, but it is a total curiosity because I did not do anything, other than caring for Fig, to invite it. It is not like I asked them for their friendship. It just seems as though they have now extended it to me, because I am caring for Fig, much like you would expect in the human realm. One just doesn't expect this of birds. TIt's not like I'm out living with a pride of lions on the grasslands in a loinclothe. Thankfully, they don't make enough ruckus that anyone else would notice. I'm the only person who knows who they are, and why they are circling around over me all the time. No one else has any clue if Fig isn't with me that I am being shadowed by a pair of wild Crows who are "related" to me. They just think two Crows are doing their usual thing.

These are welcome developments. They have decided, all on their own, to accept me as Fig's human sugar daddy. I am no longer a kidnapper, a threat, a bad guy. It makes me wonder, with a little trepidation, however,...what's going to happen next? 

Notes on Mealworms

I am planning to have Fig do a scientific study, but first, I need to get a mealworm colony going, because I need a lot of mealworms to serve as food rewards. The store bought worms have been fed a hormone laced diet to prevent them from pupating into beetles.

I have been feeding my worms various foods to try and induce them out of the hormone treatment, to no avail. A few have managed to pupate, but no beetles emerged. Finally, by luck, I have discovered that mealworms can in-fact be induced out of their hormone stagnation if fed a high sugar diet, and kept warm.

I now have three beetles, and one has laid a ton of eggs. The beetles are very slow, docile critters, quite friendly things with a pleasing shape, color, and texture too. It makes me feel horrible to farm them for food rewards. But Fig absolutely loves them.

Thank goodness I was able to figure this out because they cost $2.00 for a tiny tub. Having a colony will save me a lot of money.

Note on Bones

I have read that cats and dogs can in fact eat chicken bones. HOWEVER, they should not be given chicken bones which have been cooked. Why? Because they become brittle, like glass, and break into very sharp shards which can lodge in their intestines, cause bleeding, infection, possibly death. Raw bones quickly rinsed in boiling water are okay.

Here is a photo of a cooked chicken bone, which Fig should not have been given. It clearly illustrates the brittle, shardy nature, and danger of cooked bones as explained above.

Now cooked neck bones on the other hand are okay for Crows, I think, (not sure about Cats and Dogs) because they become very soft on the outside, and Fig enjoys eating the softened brown bone. Later she coughs up pellets of bone meal. But cooked long, calcified bones are a health risk for animals and birds.

 

Note the very sharp edges a cooked bone produces due to the fact that cooking it has made it brittle and glass like.  

I missed a great photo op the other day. Fig was eating a chicken neck, and she had two vertebrae like pirate rings on two separate toes, with her toes through the spinal cord hole. I gotta try and get her to do that pose again. 

Where's Waldo?

Or...Find Fig rather. 
Here are some photos from her recent adventures around town.
A couple of these are easy. One medium. One hard.  (top to bottom)

Good luck.

 

Notice her attentive eye contact, and vocalizing with me. That is constant. It is simple to tell if she has a visual read on me or not from her calls. When she can't see me, or isn't sure who I am in a crowd, her calling goes up in pitch, and frequency.

 

Notice that she is eyeballing Sea Hawks circling above, but she is assured and calm because I instructed her to relax and be quiet with a hand gesture; it is NOT her natural instinct to be silent when danger approaches, usually the Japanese Jungle Crows call Hok Hok Hok very alarmed when they see a Hawk, but she trusts me, and she also understands her flight limitations due to her injury, so she hunkers down, and fall silent, and motionless.  Fig has amazing judgement, and common sense. She probably also sees, or hears her Mom and Dad coming to her rescue before I do. One level up, two Pigeons are waiting to return to their nest very patiently. Fig is just above it.

 
Tarzan in action. Fearless, not, but near enough. 



 
You'll have a tough time spotting Fig in this photo, but once you have, notice that she is still maintaining perfect visual contact with me, and making certain that she is easy enough for me to spot with her erect posture, and placement. Clever lass.  

A Crow for a Day

I was upgrading Fig's perches on her balcony when she woke up. She was not at all happy to have construction underway in her space. In protest she leapt up on me and out of her enclosure which is only partially "enclosed" because as I have written many times before, she is wild, she is not a pet, and staying or going is her decision. I do all that I can to encourage her to stay, for her own safety, and she does stay with us 98% of the time. Still, I ought to have put her in and finished the construction.

My plans today were to accompany my wife and son to a fair, but the second Fig took off everyone new instantly that my plans would be delayed and possibly canceled. Usually, I can retrieve Fig in 2-3 hours.  Today would be different because she'd not had a romp in the wilds for months, she had eaten tons of food the previous day, and she'd seen construction under way, in HER living room.

I grabbed some food, threw on mostly clean clothes, brushed my teeth, and chucked a gob of gel in my hair.  I was out the door in 30 seconds, and I knew I wouldn't be returning soon the instant I stepped out; it was morning for one, perfect weather for two, and a warm steady wind, Fig's favorite, was a'blowin east, for a triple threat three. Damn.

Fig spent twenty minutes in the tree by our apartment yapping. Her Mom and Dad showed up instantly, her Dad rather grumbling and growling a bit, but thankfully this year's fledges graduated the nest two weeks ago, so his territorial hormones were diminishing. Still, I waved off his intrusions just to be safe. Fig's Dad is a huge Crow who looks like he's folding King size bed quilts when he tucks his wings away, a real monster, but he's super smart, and very gentle natured out of nesting and rearing seasons.

Next, Fig spent two hours playing on the frames of the electric parking elevator structure behind our apartment. You'd think she had a keen interest in structural engineering how she studies the thing so thoroughly exploring every nut and bolt, at times pecking things, or even seeming to taste them. I could only hope she didn't get grease all over her feet. I waited very patiently for her, being supportive without pressuring her to hurry up at all. My body language is the key to her state of mind outside. If I freak out, and act worried, she becomes erratic. If I am calm and chill, she settles down, fluffs up, and acts very rationally. The Pigeons nesting on the ledge she finally settled down on were very patient too. Amazingly, she left their eggs alone, though she'd skipped breakfast, and hadn't even had a drink of water. Suddenly, two massive Sea Hawks started circling right over Fig. Her Mom and Dad's circling and cawing no doubt had attracted them. I've never even seen one Sea Hawk in my neighborhood, and here I had two! Fantastic! They are fast, decisive, vicious hunters; I've seen them in action before; I knew Fig was living her last few moments of life. She was in very serious danger here. Hawks will dive into tight quarters for prey, no problem at all, and Fig was sitting on an airconditioner on a ledge like a chilled Chicken. No mere hand waving could spook a Sea Hawk from as easy a meal as this. But then, swoosh, here came Fig's parents to the rescue, her Dad soaring in like a great Pteradactyl. They drove those Sea Hawks far off over the horizon and didn't return for almost an hour. I never saw the Hawks again. It was a thorough job. I have no idea if it was family to the rescue, or business as usual, but Fig and I could not be more grateful for their perfectly timed calvalry arrival. Go Mom and Dad!

After studying the situation for a long time, and timing the traffic lights several times, I decided to instruct Fig to fly about ten feet between the buildings to the empty parking lot from where she could hop over to the fruit stand and be retrieved. She just couldn't get up the confidence to fly through a one meter gap into the wind though, which was confounding me no end since she had only recently flown through an 11cm gap in our kitchen. Anyway, for whatever reason, she couldn't muster the muster for the flight. Perhaps she remembered crashing down the gap between the walls there more than a year ago. So without thinking enough, I hastily instructed her to fly down in the other direction with a gesture; the wind would be at her back, the gap was larger, and the parking lot was totally empty. I just had not wanted her flying with the wind previously, as she picks up too much speed. She instantly decided this was a much more attractive option, however, and took off right away very obediently, which delighted me. Unfortunately, Fig picked up tremendous speed with the wind, as I had expected would happen, and that was much too exhilarating to waste by simply landing, and hopping over to the boring old fruit stand which was closed, and had no yummy fruit on display. Instead, Fig turned left catching the full lift of the wind now coming at her from the side. She sailed up, and straight across all four lanes of busy, rushing traffic, trucks, buses, taxis and all, and headed straight for a very big tree, forty feet high.

Across the four lane main-road, there are five large Ginko Nut trees spaced 12 meters apart. Thankfully they were not in fruit, or Fig may have gorged herself, and decided to stay out for days instead of hours. She played in these trees for several hours.  The trees stand in front of a line of buildings of various heights, with a whole assortment of balconies, fire escapes, 3D facades, drainage pipes, lighting fixtures, wiring, and signage. It is a veritable Crow playground. Fig took it upon herself to climb every ladder, even one up a tunnel, explore every balcony,  hop along every rooftop, and perch on every bar or wire. She easily could have flown over the buildings and entered the expansive forest beyond where I never ever could have found her again. But she didn't. The whole time she played, she worked hard to ensure that she always had vocal, and visual contact with me, standing erect, head up out of the leaves, facing me. I knew her stress level, the status of her visual contact with me, her hunger and thirst level, and her general states of bodily energy, and of mind all by listening carefully to her calls. And I communicated with her constantly, though the din of the road traffic made it much harder for me to hear her, and be heard no doubt. I took advantage of the red lights when the rumble of our oily artificial, mechanical world came to a welcome silent stop for a couple of minutes.  I can help her to calm down, to feel assurance, to consider where to move, and generally keep an accurate read on Fig's intentions, fears, and motivations, all by listening to her, and watching her postures. I can tell if she sees another bird, too.

Poor Fig, if she was in one tree, Sparrows attacked her relentlessly. If she was in another, Swallows began to dive bomb her noisily objecting to her presence. She took it all in stride. The innocent have no need to fear. I suppose the smaller birds are still caring for young in their nests, and Fig is their natural threat, but she is not interested, or perhaps trained in natural hunting. She was even attacked by a massive wasp, and later a big black butterfly. Nature really can be a beast. No wonder Crows prefer the height and desolation of concrete apartment buildings to trees which are ecosystems; they have no friends in the trees. 

All the while during Fig's playful frolic, Fig's Dad kept close tabs, soaring over, landing nearby and chatting, watching out for Hawks, and losing a bit of his growliness over the course of the day, warming to his daughter who he had not seen untethered in months. And I, too, dutifully stood across the street the entire time, like a Crow's mate would do, letting Fig tire herself out, frolicking like a juvenile in the leaves and branches, and waiting for signs that she was ready to come home. I have been through escapes like this three dozen times, and while Fig faces all the dangers of a real wild Crow while she is out, with extra danger added by her injury/handicap, I have confidence in her. She is no dumb animal. She well understands her handicap, and she is more aware and cautious of her moving environment than any pedestrian human. A cat, a dog, or a child will run in front of a car, but Fig is in little danger from a busy road full of crazy drivers. Plus, she is flying sufficiently well these days that she is not likely to "fall" down  to the ground where she would not like to go, such as the middle of the road.

Passers by sometimes took note of the fact that I was talking to someone who wasn't there. A few people actually inquired, Who are you talking to? These are shy Japanese people mind you who would normally just walk on by. One particularly attentive lady managed to observe that I was talking to Fig, and that Fig was talking back to me. She said, Are you talking to a Crow? She happened to speak English very well. I said with a straight face, which I have acquired in the last two years of caring for this bird,  and my usual smile, Yes, I am. She then observed that Fig was talking back to me, and she said, Is that Crow talking to you? I laughed, and said, again with my straight face, and a smile, Yes, she is. I then informed her, That's my Crow. To which she replied, Oh, that's wonderful. Is it a boy or a girl? I replied, She's a girl. And she grinned and smiled, and seemed to be just overjoyed at the idea of chatting with a Crow. See you again! That lady made my day. I love people who can take in the unexpected in one breath without exhaling judgement. I realize it's odd as hell to be talking to a Crow in public as much as the next person, but hey, folks, life is like that sometimes. Deal.

A sweet little boy on a bicycle, all of about four years old also had to stop to ask me, Who are you talking to? He could not see her, or hear her faint calls from across the street over the traffic noise. But Fig had just decided to come down so I needed to dash across the street, so I simply replied, To my bird!(pointing). Sorry, gotta dash!. And I dashed across on the green light. Fig had been playing 35-40 feet up in the air for hours, and finally, she was getting hungry, answering my calls about food with "Yes, I am feeling a bit peckish, wot. Is it time for tea?" calls. She had flown to the end of the line of trees, and off onto the lowest building, clever girl, obviously thinking I could maybe reach her there. I told her to wait, and I entered the building, but there was no roof. I ended up above Fig, still out of reach. She can't fly up well. So we chatted about the predicament, and I went back down, and across the street. I suggested that she come across the street to the fruit stand, but the idea of flying across the street now that the wind had died down made her feel under confident. It was four lanes of traffic. Even if she started from 35 feet up, she may have been hit by a bus at the necessary sharp angle of decline needed to land at the fruit stand I was so selfishly, and foolishly suggesting. Fortunately, Fig had already figured out a much more clever escape plan which I had not thought of, one which would allow me to come to her, and keep her off the ground, which is obviously not a safe place for her. Duh!

Fig flew all the way through the five tall trees again. I could see she was on a mission. Calling to me constantly, I followed along. Then she took off and flew to the railing on the fourth floor of the old parking garage. How about here, she inquired? I told her to wait there, which she does very dutifully, and I ran around the block, and into the garage. I had to run up eight inclines, because it's one of those spiraling designs. It took several minutes to get there because the garage was in the middle of the long block. Anyway, there she was waiting for me on the fourth floor railing, calling loudly. She made me chase her back and forth on the railing for a last bit of fun, but I indulged her, feigning several catching attempts for her to dodge, a game she knows well, then she surprisingly flew into the garage, where she explored every pipe, rail, mesh, hole, crack, and concrete block, naughtily evading capture a while longer. What she is doing is studying. She is memorizing as much of her environment as possible, for the next great escape. She is mapping her world, and she won't forget a thing. It is quite impressive to watch her do it.

Finally, she stayed on command and put her head down, the sign of submission, though I could see she still wanted to play catch me if you can a while longer, and I simply picked her up. I was playing her game for almost eight hours, and that was long enough for any day. I gave her tons of hugs and kisses, and she gave me a few hard bites on my fingers in objection at having been asked to come in from playtime so early, or perhaps at annoyance that I had not kept her safer, or caught her sooner. It was 6:45pm, so she might have played still longer, but she had escaped at 11:15am. That was a long day for Fig, without a meal, and me too. A long day, of being a Crow for a day, for her, and for me as well.

Ultimately, she figured out her own escape "back to captivity" by herself, a capture on her own terms, in a clever way such that she did not have to come down to the ground as I so stupidly and selfishly was suggesting. She had kept visual and auditory contact with me. She had responsibly decided the time, the safest time,  just before sundown, to allow for errors before total darkness. This is an animal which is smarter than humans folks. With her calls, and innate sense for pair work, and team work. With her acute attention, and astute exploration and mapping of her surroundings, then quick thinking use of what she observed. With her correct read of all the other living inhabitants of her environment, her quick decision making, her reasoning, her risk avoidance, her listening and communication, eye contact, and use of simple but effective, information dense language...this animal is smarter than humans. No doubt. Humans can walk past the same glaringly obvious feature of their environment for decades, day after day, and not notice it, we are complacent, dull minded, dimwitted, unobservant nitwits by comparison. I am being mellodramatic, of course, but it is true, Fig is better equipped anyway, for survival in the natural world, and faster to adapt to dynamic, unfamiliar, fluid situations. Better suited. More deserving. I surrender. The future belongs to the Crows. At least no one will disagree that I am the stupider one of this pair, having let Fig escape, again, that is certainly my wife's opinion, and she was not shy about sharing it. But she has to cut me a bit of slack; In Fig's mind, she was deciding to take me for a walk. Fig wouldn't lead my wife on such an adventure because she knows that my wife is not going to come along; I am the one who takes her "out". Anyway, I will be covering the space over the door that she took advantage of. She clearly decided that since her usual space was not usual, that she'd much prefer to go out for the day. I will put her in before doing construction in her space again. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

The military has trained dogs, pigeons, dolphins, and whales, and various other animals for god only knows what. I know that they are now interested in the intelligence of Crows, and for good reason, because the birds are obviously very smart especially at mapping, and visual recognition. My imagination reels, however, at the ungodly possibilities "war Crows" present. War is man's problem. Rather than dragging other species into our cycle of violence, we ought to be learning how they maintain a cycle of peaceful coexistence successfully, something we are failing to do. 

Finally, while I do so love reading about all the latest Crow intelligence studies, and their natural ability to reason, or observe, measure, etc.. nothing is ever going to be more stunning, awe inspiring or quite literally shocking than my own first hand experiences with Fig. She completely amazes me non-stop. While I am happy to say that I have virtually acquired a third language, having learned quite a bit of Crow over the last two years with her, as much of Crow communication still remains a total mystery, as is so of Japanese, and in fact of English even. Language is an incredibly complex phenomenon having arisen over bazillions of trillions of years. Communication is indeed one of life's deepest mysteries to fathom. What a delight it is for me to have an other-species friend to ponder it with.

My consolation prize on this misadventure is that Fig finally serenaded me outside today, as she usually only does at home. She gave me a long, expressive serenade in the afternoon, like I see paired Crows performing for one another. I could not say with certainty, however, if the serenade was a love song intended for me, or a sign of submission directed at her Dad who was sitting imposingly, far off atop a billboard at the time. It could have been either, or it could have been that she was serenading me in front of her Dad to let him know that she was with her mate, therefore, she was not a threat herself, so don't attack me please, take up any territorial disagreements with my husband, over there, that big fellow with the big nose, and strange blond/grey feathers. Whatever the meaning, it was neat to see her singing merrily, tail down, throat puffed, wings open half way.  It makes me feel like she is a truly happy, fulfilled person, and she certainly was once I got her home safe. She sang and sang, and sang, and cuddled up to me over and over for lingering, blinky-eyed hugs, and ate and drank. She's a soft, affectionate spirit, a wonderful birdie. It's all too gushy to go into further detail.

Thank God Fig is home safe again.

Acrobatic Flying

Crows are some serious circus acrobats. I often watch the wild ones flying through the trees, I mean, diving, racing, twisting, turning, swooping, at incredible pace, beating their wings so hard they look as though they might break off, zipping through dense rambly scrambly woods.  At times they pull such quick, crazy maneuvers that their feathers twist and contort like a useless rag in the wind, then just as quickly snap back to resume functioning aerodynamically. It is hard to see how they manage these feats of aerobatics without crashing or breaking a wing on a branch, but they do, and it is nothing short of amazing.

Fig is permanently disabled, but she still pulls stunts out on her balcony, flying up the wall, and the fence, rolling over, twisting around, ttouching the ceiling with both feet, bounding off every object and surface, dive bombing into her bath and out again. She can be nuts, and sometimes she does crash, or slide out, but she seems indestructible.

The other day though, she did something, with that broken wing of hers which left me utterly stunned silent. I was with her in the living room, and my wife was in the kitchen. She had the refrigerator door open, flush into the kitchen doorway.  This leaves a space of exactly 11cm between the edge of the fridge door, and the kitchen door frame. Suddenly, Fig leapt off of me, flying directly towards this tiny gap. I have no idea how she fit through the space, because it seemed to me to be exactly the size of her body. She flew two meters at a dash, twisted 90degrees in midair next to instantly, and went straight through that narrow gap, twisted back, and flew another two meters to land triumphantly on the kitchen table, cawing excitedly, like she'd just pulled off one unbelievable stunt, which she had. I measured her body as best I could and it's only a centimeter or so smaller than the gap. I don't even think what she did is physically possible, but it gave me a good laugh when my wife ooped in surprise as Fig skimmed past behind her showing off.

Don't Tease a Crow

Fig is no push over. We were at the park, and several elementary school kids were present; a first grader, a couple of second and third graders, and a fifth grade boy. It seems to be a human quality that out numbered elders will revert to a younger age like a boss trying to tell a funny joke, or use cool slang in front of employees. Well, this fifth grader was on his most immature behavior showing off. He put up both his hands,  made a long, goofy face, and some ape noises right in poor Figgy's face to evoke a reaction. Far from showing any fear though, she leaned forward, gave a good tail pump, and issued a belting caw, with a good dose of growl thrown in. Knock it off! That kid just about fell over backwards. He wasn't expecting to get adminished by a bird.

Fig knows what kids are, what teasing and aggression are, and she's no door mat. I was impressed that she was in fact rather judiciously generous with her restraint. She can roar like a Lion if she really feels the need to be defensive. She would never peck anyone aggressively unless grabbed, and even then she'd opt to flee first. Humans exhibit some truly perplexing behavior sometimes.  I have absolute confidence in Fig. She's never showed the slightest aggression towards anyone. This was an appropriate and measured reaction to provocation. 

Notes on Nutrition

When you cook for a Crow, if you ever have to do it, you will quickly realize, as I have, that a staggering percentage of food in the human world is hardly qualified to be called food at all. In fact it is utter crap. Junk food is really a terrible term, and I think it was probably invented by the junk food industry to convince consumers, yes, it is junk, but hey, it's food! It's junk-food! And it isn't. It's just junk.

So much "food" is jammed full of sweeteners, salts, and other chemical additives. At least in America, and especially in California you have a choice between Cheetos and all natural corn chips made from corn, zero transfat high oleic oils, and a bit of sea salt. Here in Japan, most people have no idea what a transfat is, and almost all food is imported which means, it gets off the boat, and sold directly to unscrupulous food producers who turn it into 100 different stretched, fluffed, puffed, powdered, flavored varieties of sugared, salted, preserved, coated, processed bleh. Not one of them turns it into natural healthy snack food. There really is not a culture of "healthy" snack foods. Yes, Japanese home cooking is mostly fish, and rice, and vegetables, but in the snack and cereal world, you just don't have a strong healthy snack food awareness, education, R&D, demand or supply. If you buys snacks, it's pretty much gonna be junkfood.

It's hard to find even simple oatmeal that is not prepackaged with additives. Buying simple grains and legumes is expensive, too expensive. There simply is not the dirt cheap, Mexican migrant labor pool, or the extremely industrialized, centralized massive aggro biz of America here, so foods we take totally for granted in the U.S. are much more rare, and expensive here. Imagine walking into a large grocery store, and you cannot find "a" bag of cornchips, never mind an aisle of bags of corn chips in every conceivable variety. You can't imagine that. To get plain, natural corn chips, I have to go on an hours drive to CostCo, and then I have a choice of one kind of so-so corn chip, which is too salty. I'm not complaining, I am just trying to illustrate, that when you are feeding a Crow, just like when you are feeding a baby, you suddenly realize that the whole world of food is shit. The difference is, for some bizarre reason, we let our kids eat shit. We let shit slowly creep into their diets. We say, huh, it didn't kill them. They even ask for more. We keep buying it.  But birds can't survive on it as a daily habit. I met a guy at the park here feeding popcorn to park Pigeons. Not real popcorn, snack pop corn. Birds should not be ingesting that level of salt, and hydrogenated oil. They'll have heart attacks. The thing is, humans shouldn't either. We don't complain nearly enough. And people in Japan, as far as I can tell, never complain at all about anything to anyone; that's not true, but it almost is. It makes feeding kids, and Crows a tricky task for a concerned parent.
 

Happiness

You've never seen a happier animal than a Crow that's just got a new perch cover and toys.

I redecorated her indoor perch, and Fig ran back and forth rubbing herself on it, just thrilled. I've never seen another animal so clearly express utter joy. She loved the new fabric, the new color scheme, but most of all, having new toys, and new ropes to tug, hold, and play with. It just sent her into fits of ecstasy. I gave her two bits of her favorite plastic jumprope cord, one at each end of her perch, and she ran back and forth rubbing on them, cawing, two two???!!! and holding them, all the while telling me, I love you, I love you in English. It has been hard to put her to be bacause she seems so thrilled with the set up she just wants to be on that favorite perch. I changed out the terry covering for felt at my wife's request, and Fig seems to really like the felt. It remains to be seen how felt treats her feet though, and if she doesn't start to destroy it, which will surely be fun. Gotta watch.

I also changed an outdoor perch cover. It is ultra soft, plush and bouncy now, and Fig was trampolining off that perch like an Olympic gymnast could only dream of doing, for two hours before she finally took a break. She gets herself worked up to a staggering level of activity, panting, and panting...but still zooming about at fever pitch. She's one fit bird. She'll exercise for two or three hours non-stop some mornings before eating anything, or even drinking any water.

Mind you, while things were being changed, there was hell to pay. What a fuss. What paranoia. What fear over the unknown. I let her sit on my shoulder while I worked and she pooped on me, twice, she was so overcome with anxiety...but once she realized that the fruits of my labor were so sweet, and all hers to harvest, man, she was just on fire.

What Ah is.

I got a bit of information on Fig's mysterious Ah call which has had me baffled, especially since most of her other communications' meanings now so easily ring true in my ear.

I had a chance to observe three pairs, and two groups of Crows on the morning after garbage day. The local Crows were making the early morning, post garbage pick-up day, breakfast rounds, collecting any food that got dropped in or around the garbage areas outside every building in town early in the morning. It is certainly not unusual to see Crows collecting food after garbage day, but I don't usually get to see both, pairs and groups, on the same morning. Observing both gave me some information I probably wouldn't have noticed without the rapid fire comparisons.

I observed that the pairs were working in the usual way, silently, one bird on the ground, the other acting as look out. If danger came, the bird higher up alerted the bird on the ground by flying up higher, using only the sound of its motion to instantly alert the bird down on the ground of the danger. The pairs are extremely stealthy, like Navy Seals, tightly connected, moving as one, listening as one, using all their senses as one. Vocal calls were only used very sparingly if danger was unusually imminent. It is a truly beautful thing to watch a pair of experienced Crows at work. Their teamwork is a refined and elegant, quiet ballet. Now pairs do say, Ah, but the contexts are different. When a well bonded, properly functioning pair is together, near the ground, that is not a context when Ah seems useful; vocalization is kept to a minimum to avoid drawing predators, competition, or attention.

Now, I also happened to observe a couple of groups doing the same garbage foraging behavior as the pairs, but their behavior and approach is quite different. I assume this is because the groups are younger, less experienced birds. But the difference might be that a different approach is necessary for a larger group. Anyway, the groups are far from silent, and hardly Navy Seal-esque, but one might still make the case that they perform efficiently. I would say the groups compare favorably to a group of average Police Officers: The group moves along as one, but only one or two members moves at a time; so it is like Police on a house raid. Officer One kicks in the door. Officer Two and Three run in. One goes left. One right. Then Four and Five pass them and stop. Etc... The whole time they are yelling things like, I'm going in. Cover me. Clear. The only word the Crows use is Ah (straight, flat intonation). They only way to tell who has said what is by the sound of their individual voices. This is all very commando action movie-esque still, it's just noisier than the mated pair teams. I've read that Ravens attract other Ravens to a source of food intentionally because drawing more birds makes it less likely that they'll get bossed around by the dominant birds, but this does not strike me as the purpose of the group of Jungle Crows noisiness. I think they are simply working well together.

More importantly, I think I have possibly correctly understood that the Ah which Fig is using with me when we are outside is both an indication of her young age, and the nature of our relationship. She clearly sees me as a member of her working group when we are outside together. Her perception is not that I am her mate. That might change as she matures, and I wonder if at some point when we are outside together, in the next couple of years, she will fall almost totally silent, and will we get to a point where she feels that we are functioning as a stealthy real deal "pair". Will we move along silently together, like we are each other's shadows, communicating only by eye-contact, gesture, and the sound of our motions? We are sort of like that at times when we're playing outside, but Fig still reserves a certain amount of "aloof". I can for example engage her in a game when she is up on a wall. I will run this way, and she will leap and fly the other. Then reverse that, and repeat. Or she'll perch on my arm, then watch for a sudden command to leap free and land somewhere else. These sort of tight communication games feel like the wild pairs I see functioning so well. But then, she decides she wants to fly up a tree. She does not yet understand that I am stuck on the ground. If she felt that I was her mate, those "aloof" wandering moments of independence, probably wouldn't happen. Or maybe they do. I sometimes see pairs who seem to be struggling with their teamwork quite a lot. So, I work with Fig outside, and as the older one, I try to positively reinforce, eyecontact, fluidity of response, total attention, and unified focus; it is not like she will have the chance to learn and practice those things with a male Crow, so I have to try and do this for her, just as I give her preening, conversation, affection, etc...

At home, Fig literally says "I love you." appropriately after getting food, water, a bath, affection, etc... and she asks me for attention and affection, and serenades me with never ending love songs...but the truth is, I cannot assume that to mean "I'm in love with you." because that's at home, in a micro-ecosystem. I'm the one that feeds her, washes her, pets her, plays with her, studies with her, etc... There isn't someone she is going to love more in that environment. I'm not saying she is not sincere. I am just saying, in a captive but friendly environment, it is totally natural that the captive is going to develop rapore with the caretaker.  It is not that Fig does not love me, she just may not (yet?) feel "in love" with me. Outside, she may well be thinking she's gonna score a real deal, real Crow boyfriend someday, and that would be super, if a disabled male Crow ever came into our lives. It remains to be seen if Fig's love for me will one day develop into her falling in love with me. Is that even possible for a Crow to actually fall in love with a human? I suspect it is, but as her call suggests, or rather, as her contextual use of the call Ah suggests, she is not yet either physiologically or psychologically interested in being a pair...it's still a group thing. Ah.
 

Stupidity

For all the fascination with Crow and Raven intelligence, their remarkable "stupidity" goes unnoted. Much like human stupidity, the Crow's is more idiosyncratic, than idiotic.

The other day, for example, one of Fig's perches broke, so thinking it dangerous, I took it out. Then as usual, I set Fig outside for the day. I knew exactly what was going to happen because this has happened before, but for some reason, this time, it caught my attention.

Fig has her usual things she does in her spaces. If I change or move something in those spaces, even slightly, she gets pretty upset. She does not express any anger, or annoyance at the time usually, but when I bring her inside the house, that is when I get a whole litany of ear chewing, finger wagging, sterny-eyed cawing and hoopla.  It is a report, and I'm the one in trouble for whatever the latest infraction is.

So, I put her out, which involves bringing her to the door, sitting on the bed, and Fig sitting on my knee near the doorway to her balcony. She will usually sit on my knee for several minutes, sadly gazing deep into my eyes in the most heart breaking way possible. She has these unusually beautiful, big, round eyes, which somehow manage to evoke giraffe length eyelashes, and a sweet, innocent Shirley Temple face which sulks and pouts just as well. Come on, don't go. Don't leave for the day. She really works those heart strings. The cat is not half bad at this either, but Fig, she should be giving acting lessons.

Anyway, if I don't eventually up and say, Okay jump jump! then Fig might very well sit on my knee, staring mournful abandon deep into my eyes for a good 30 minutes before she decides she wants to leap out to the balcony voluntarily for the day. So, I said it, and she complied. Out she went. And, as I suspected, she rather sarcastically gawked at her missing perch. Huh? Is something missing here? I'm not kidding, she's sarcastic as hell when she wants to be.

And then she launches into her usual games, flying, soaring, bounding, gliding, twisting, wall bouncing, touching the roof, etc...all while getting from perch to perch, only, her favorite perch is now gone. So when she gets to the spot it usually inhabits, she is either so dumb, that she cannot somehow understand that the perch is not there, or she is just totally pulling my leg while I am standing at the door watching her, because she jumps up into empty space over and over again, and pretends to be attempting to land on a perch which is now empty space, aside from a bit of air. After watching this display of insanity for several minutes, with Fig getting ever more crazy, and ridiculous, I decide that I simply have to bring her in until her perch is fixed.

I watched this display, and I have to say, I think the whole thing was a charade. She is not so dumb that she cannot observe that the perch is missing. She is not neglected or spacially squeezed to the point that her behavior is that of a bored zoo animal with neurotic repetitive motion disorder. And she really plays it up to the point of ridiculous, leaping up to the perch, attempting to snag onto the wall mounts, standing there looking up, gazing back and forth pathetically, like she just cannot believe that her favorite perch is actually gone.

But here is the give away. So, I go out. She turns around from the ground beneath the perch's usual spot. She looks at me with...those eyes, all teary, and a-fluster. Whatever happened to my perch. I say, Come on, and she immediately jumps up on me. I take her inside. She goes into the bathroom. Not a word. Not a single word. Not one slightly miffed murmur about that perch gone missing. Obviously, she is as pleased as peas that her goofy ploy has worked its magic. She's in.

Now, I have to say, I, for one, believe, when an animal communicates fear, anger, annoyance, humans should listen very carefully with all due seriousness. And I was genuinely concerned that Fig could come to harm in a changed environment, without a chance to get accustomed to it, which is why I removed her from it. But I have placed her into her space without that perch in the past, and observed her from a greater distance, to see her reaction, and she simply settles down, and accepts that one perch is gone without issue. But later, when I come home, and bring her in, as usual, that is when I will get berated for the infraction. Who took my perch! Someone did! You are responsible! I am NOT happy about this! Find my perch!!! And on, and on, and on for several minutes.

So, either Fig has idiosyncratic idiocy, and cannot accept a change in reality, that does not jibe with her memory of a place, or I am an idiot, because it seriously looks to me as though she is putting on a show to say, Hey idiot, where the heck is my perch, do you seriously expect me to perch in mid air, here, look, I am perching in mid air.  And that can't be so, because animals are not sarcastic.

Bombing the Cat

This is not a good development.

Our house cat has an ever bolder demeanor with Fig. For some time now she has taken to launching herself at Fig's screen door from the bed, landing full four-legged spread eagle on the upper half, square panel of the screen door. She stays there as long as she likes. Fig has been very tolerant, I would even say, indifferent about these comical gymnastics on the part of our cat. She simply goes about her playful routine bounding, flying, gliding, etc... devil may care.

In part, Fig's attitude is natural because, from the perspective of a Crow, the world is divided up into territories. It is very obvious where these territories are in our house from Fig's perspective, and as long as the cat is on her side of the doorway, even if it is spread out like a bear skin rug, actually on the surface of the screen door, then all is still right with the world. But this is not to say that these surprise "attacks" are not, well, startling, and annoying.

In response to these obnoxious antics, recently, Fig has rather cleverly decided to retaliate by flying up and pooping on the screen door, when the cat attaches herself to it like a late-night talk show host in a Velcro suit. Fortunately Crow poop cannot go through a screen door, only across it. More fortunately still, the cat only seems to need to get her Crow surprise fix once or twice per day. Still more fortunately, the cat seems to be getting the message from Fig to knock it off.

Well, we'll see where this exciting chapter of my life leads. Good grief.

Notes on Caching/ "Cooking"

I did not learn how to cook really well until I was in my twenties. It took a lot of practice to become a good cook. Fig, however, by some miracle of nature, has either learned, or simply has an innate ability to “cook”.

I don’t mean that she lights up a stove, of course, but she very clearly seems to know exactly which foods cache well, or store well, and which should be eaten right away. She will cache fat, meat or protein, dried kibble, or nuts. But she won’t cache tofu, or wet bread, fruit, or cooked grains, usually.

I recently started giving Fig a bit of a Japanese food called natto which are fermented soy beans. She loves them, and though it is the stickiest, and smelliest food on the planet, she manages to eat them very daintily without making any mess. I only give her a little from time to time, because it is new for her, and there is some debate over cultured foods for birds, so I was watching, and listening carefully (TMI?)for any adverse effects. Anyway, she decided that she was not the biggest fan of natto in the end, as it is very slimy (hence her dainty nibbling). But instead of giving up on it, she cleverly set out all the beans in a row on her perch, and waited for them to simply dry out a bit, to the point that they remained soft and chewable, but lost the sticky slime on the outsides. I thought that was a pretty clever trick. It clearly demonstrates her abilities to suppress the impulse to eat, and to think into the future anyway.  I mean, it’s got to be a rare dog or cat that puts its kibble into water, and thinks, “Eh, I’ll come back in a little while when it nice and soft, just the way I really like it.”

 

It is also worth noting that Fig very carefully samples, and tastes things that are unfamiliar, or new. She’ll have a tiny nibble, chewing it up, and tasting it carefully with her tongue. It is a behavior I will never lose my sense of awe over. You just don’t see cats and dogs, or most people for that matter, sampling food like they’re expert blooming wine tasters, eyeballs rolling around under their discerning brows, and the whole nine yards. It is all very ET.

Notes on Grammar

It seems to me that Crow language grammar is extremely broad. For example, if I move something, or introduce something, cover something, or change something…all these things will get me a good scolding from Fig. The grammatical sentence is very simply “What you did, or allowed to happen, has pissed me off, upset, or otherwise caused me to worry, rather beyond belief.” (I may have editorialized that last bit).
The specific time of this sentence might be just now, a little previously, or a day ago. It does not really seem to matter. Fig’s perspective is very much that both of us understand things, the context and topic of the conversation she is starting, from a similar perspective, a Crow's perspective, or rather, a Crow pair's perspective; the problem is, that I am not a Crow, and more often than not, I have no idea what has upset her, at first. The irony is that this is exactly the same short-coming which gets me into hot water with my wife.

Anyway, the serious point I am trying to make here, is that birdies are living more in the moment, doing "survival", and Crows are working very much as a team, so the need for complex grammar seems as though it is less required, probably even a hindrance. Humans tend to live a much slower existence, planning, and reflecting, so our grammar is necessarily more "complex" in regards to time, and topic. It is interesting to compare the two "life styles" ; what is lost or gained opting for one or the other. I would guess that human divorce out numbers Crow divorce handily, and that is probably due to the fact that we have lost our ability, or need, to really act, and function in a connected way. Which is it, I wonder? We have sympathy, and empathy, a sense of fairness, and equality, but we are independent and aloof. Rather a shame.

Put another way, if you have ever watched a TV Show where they pit couples against each other, and they are yelling, and screaming, and swearing, issuing instructions with lots of yes's, and no's and short immediate feedback, encouragement, and scolding...that's Fig's style. Not all the time, thankfully. The reason we enjoy watching that kind of show so much, is because it is hilarious how obviously difficult it is for us to act as unified, cooperative pairs.

 

Notes on Washing/ Mimicking

Fig often drops/ discards food that she does not like, especially citrus fruit that she finds too sour or tart. If she drops it rind down, I will sometimes pick it up, give the rind and the whole fruit a good rinse, put it back up on her shelf, and tell her in my best admonishing parent voice, while pointing at the fruit, “You, eat that!” And she usually complies, after which she gets something tastier for a reward. I can hardly afford to have her tossing away perfectly good food as a habit. The other day, I picked up some citrus she had dropped, and I didn’t rinse it, because it wasn’t soiled, and had landed in a clean spot, rind down., so I just picked it up and put it back on her shelf. She jumped down, grabbed the fruit, took it over to her water bowl, sauntering like a cowboy, proceeded to give it an emphatic shake in her water bowl, three times no less, then she took it up to her perch and ate the whole thing.

She often will wash things, or take food to water to wet it, soak it, or otherwise make it more palatable. Interestingly, she never ever takes food to her bath though, only to smaller bowls of water which I always provide in addition to her bath or baths depending on the weather. I suppose she realizes she'll lose half of the food in the depths. But this instance of cleaning seemed very clearly to me to be mimicking, with a bit of cheekiness tossed in. “You forgot to wash it!” sort of a thing. She has mimicked me before  when she brought water in her beak to wash under her perches.

These sorts of things just leave me speechless.

Notes on Communication

It is interesting that, at home, Fig very vocally, and capably communicates her every specific need, be that food, water, a  bath, or attention. And she serenades, and declares her love and thanks no end. She'll speak English. She'll use "words" and sounds she learned in matching training. She'll gurgle, and mutter, and make things up for fun.

But outside, things are another story completely. Out and about she pretty much limits her vocal communication with me to Ahh!  Straight intonation, without any pitching up or down, just Ahh! If she said this to an unknown Crow, the pitch would go up rather sharply, and recently, she doesn't talk to Crows she sees flying overhead, only to me.  It is something she says to me at home too, but I have not yet defined its clear meaning in my mind. I just can't quite get it to gel. Sometimes it seems like a loving Ahh! Other times it seems like annoyance at my being overly present, or controlling. Perhaps, if I average out those two things, it means "partner". Sometimes, I get the sense that Fig is letting other Crows know that she is not alone, that her male partner is with her, so watch out. Perhaps that is what it means. Perhaps that is why she has not been attacked this spring nesting season when we've been out. I just don't know. She says it direct to my face, and there is no aggression, though she could easily peck out my eye if she wanted to. Hmm. It's frustrating. Maybe there simply is no human equivalent.

Notes on Vision

1. Fig jumped down to the floor, turned around and dashed all of one inch, right into the screendoor. I've run into a screendoor myself before. Can be hard to see. No harm done.

2. At the park, late afternoon, in dimmed twighlight. I had a clear/ cloudy color tupperware to give Fig water in. She dipped her beak into it three times and did the "Rinsing out her beak motion" in full, where she opens her beak, and shakes/ rotates her head side to side. Three times! Like she was accomplishing the desired task! Finally she realized it was EMPTY! Having realized this, she then flew across the park to the water faucet which she had never visited before, landing down at the base, not on top like she would at a water fountain. She had evidently taken note(s) when I fetched water there before using my free hand to push the faucet's button, setting the cup on the grid below.  I walked over, filled the tupperware, and she washed out her beak and had a drink. I will never know if she was simply unable to see that there was no water in the semi-transparent tupperware at twighlight,  or if she was gesturing to me that she wanted water. Either way, it was an interesting thing to witness.  As usual, she had many bird fan admirers chatting her up which she obviously soaks up cheerfully, fluffing up and stepping closer to strangers cuddling up to her.

Thundering Crows

I am not smart enough to figure out how to take a screenshot from my phone from video without the timeline included, but my local Crows are certainly smart enough to stay out of trees during a lightning storm.

About a hundred Crows were enjoying the stormy wind gusts, until the lightning started in earnest, after which they began to roost, and pay very careful attention to the weather, eventually deciding to fly off in the best direction of avoidance. They don't take chances, and they make decisions as a group.

New Crow Intelligence Study

An exciting new study on Crow intelligence has made waves! I have written to request permission to print the study text and images on this blog, or some of it. Fingers crossed! And I am studying the study to see if I can use it, or some portion of it for enrichment for Fig. I'm also just curious to see how she does. I have given her direct match training in the past, and found that she has done very well, but this new study targets something called relational matching...here's a quick explanation of what that is below:

The gist:

First, Scientists trained/taught Crows to study a sample card, and then choose a card from a pair which had a matching picture/item. This is called IMTS, Image Match To Sample. Simple enough.

Secondly, after having learned to pick out cards with a matching item, the Crows were given a sample card, then again, two cards to choose from. This time, however, no image matches were present. Instead, only something "relational" was "in the cards".  This is called RMTS, Relational Match To Sample. Note, some of these relational differences are damned, damned hard to spot for ME! It is quite embarrassing really.

Hopefully, you will be able to try spotting the correct matches yourself and see just how smart Crows actually are, which it turns out more and more, is remarkably smart. 

(updating soon) 

Coming Home to a Crow

What is it like coming home to a Crow?

When I come home to Fig, she jumps for joy, flying back and forth, looking out the window, the balcony resembles a Batman fight scene going down. She is bounding and leaping to an fro to get my attention. When I go outside she jumps all over me excitedly playing, and cawing at me. She won't let me go inside without her. If I put her down, she is back on my shoulder in a flash. If I go in without her, it is likely she'll come leaping across the bed, ice skating across the floor, smashing into the bedroom door in a sliding corner, scrambling across the floor, ice skating to another sliding crash into the bathroom cabinet next, leaping up on the hamper, the washing machine, the cabinet, then the edge of the sink, and finally up onto her perch in the bathroom. Then she proceeds to yell at me admonishingly, the volume and length of which depend entirely on how late I am perceived to be, how much I offended her by not bringing her in, not playing, or doing some small thing wrong on the way into the house. Next she yells at me about every tiny thing inside the house which has been moved, or is new or unfamiliar. The other day, the ceiling light cover had been pushed in slightly at an angle; when she noticed this, she did a sudden hysterical duck down, completely flattening herself out on my forearm, and gasped in shocked surprise in a way I had never heard before, just as one example, like she was expecting an frickin' elephant to crawl out of the hole in the ceiling at any second. It was like a leap in reverse, just hysterical. Then it's a good yell at the cat who stares in utterly disgusted disbelief. Next she launches into mega alarm calls which can be heard blocks away, I am sure, about anything black, or threatening. After I remove threats, and apologize for being late or slighting her on play time, she then does the standard greeting which involves her reminding me that I am supposed to have brought her something special from my school lunch, and I didn't forget, right? Right? Right? Then she needs about 5 minutes to chat me up in front of the mirror during which she repeatedly tells me she loves me in both English and Crow, which is super sweet, and she  reminds me that she has been wanting to play with me all day while I was out, and serenades me with varied string of calls sung hyper emotionally, which admittedly, it is hard not to be moved by once one understands exactly what she is actually saying. Repeat as necessary. After 5-15 minutes of talking, chatting, singing, yelling, and reporting, she finally settles down when I give her a snack, which she eats, then begins to preen quietly, only calling out for various reasons such as thirst, hunger, a chat, a shower request periodically. Phew! Admittedly, I sometimes just give her something to snack on right away, and ask her to settle down, which works find in the short term, but sooner or later, she is going to get her "report" time. She always has plenty of things to say; they need saying, and she has absolutely got to be given the chance to vent, unload, and report. One cannot skip it. It is a lot of fun, but it is also exasperating because her energy level is on par with a hyperactive young child that wants to tell Mummy eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeverything.

In a nutshell.