This crow stood and preened and preened, and scraped its beak against the railing, for nearly fifteen minutes — and still left as mucky as it had come. I’m not entirely sure what’s all over the poor devil, but it looks most unsavoury. (I’m guessing either bird lime or bird vomit. It’s about that time of year, when the new crop of crows starts pecking its way from the shell, isn’t it? Perhaps this was the result of a catastrophic feeding accident.)
Poor grubby fellow!
I wonder if I’ll get to see any tiny crows, new on the wing? Last autumn, I noticed some that were clearly heading into their first winter, still a bit browny-feathered, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a really young one, still learning to eat by itself, and so forth. I’ve spied loads of wee sparrows and finches, trying their first seeds at my feeder, but never a little crow. Maybe this’ll be the year.
