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.
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.
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