A Murder

There is a small cabal of crow devotees along the West coast that count several EctoEditors among their number. You can tell who they are easily enough. The sacks of bread-heels and dog-treats stuffed into pockets and trailing crumbs are a dead giveaway. The occasional full-stop, moon-eyed, staring into the sky might seem like the local weirdo’s weekly fugue state, but maybe they’re just watching the antics of a group of jousting adolescent corvids.

If you’re lucky enough to have a few near your home, try tossing out the occasional treat. It won’t be long before soot-winged minions swoop menacingly over your mountaintop lair, rattling across the bones of your fallen enemies in search of necrotizing morsels as a warning to all that would disturb your uneasy peace.

Crows [Gustavo Lopez : Why Me]