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.
