Let this be a warning to my friends: if you’re ever out walking with me, beware of dive-bombing birds.
Why? First, listen to this incredible story on NPR. Click here. Researchers at the University of Washington have discovered that crows have the ability to tell one human from another–they actually remember and recognize faces. Cause a crow some grief and, no kidding, it’s bound to remember that slight. Cross paths with that crow again (keeping in mind that it’s a lot more likely to recognize you than you it), and you risk being attacked or, at the very least, cackled at at alarmingly high volume. Yes, it’s been shown they hold grudges. And they even communicate these grudges to other birds.
Last year, I was down in St. Lucia covering their annual jazz festival for WNUA. At the hotel where we were staying I happened to be walking to the pool on a path that—unknown to me at the time—took me by a blackbird’s nest. Perhaps it was the cologne I was wearing. Or the color of my shirt. Or the black hair atop my head. All I did was walk by, but I somehow set off some kind of alarm in the nest. Before you know it, one of the parents let out a cackle and then zoomed down so close to my head that I could feel the rush of the wind near my right ear. I thought nothing of it until it happened to me again on the way back to the room: a blackbird let out a bird scream and flew right past my head.
The next morning it happened a third time. This time, the bird made slight contact with the side of my head, flying so close to me that I could actually smell that animal-like smell on the way by. By the afternoon I was becoming wary of the routine and had begun avoiding that particular route to and from the pool. I avoided that path the rest of the weekend, and there were no further dive-bombing incidents. Until this past June, that is.
On June 19 I was out at Navy Pier for the Guitars and Saxes concert. In the middle of a conversation with a group of listeners, a blackbird came out of nowhere, descending at high speed, and clipped me on the back of the head. We were all stunned. It took a moment for us to process what had just happened. It was another bird swooping down, trying to send me a message.
I wrote it off as coincidence . . . until I heard the story about the crows. I don’t know what I did to them, but I’ve somehow become persona non grata in the bird community. And, apparently, word has gotten around.
As a result, I’m taking no chances. You’ll find a pile of fresh breadcrumbs on our porch from now on. And I’m even thinking about installing one of those birdbaths that circulate a constant flow of fresh water. Hopefully, that’ll show our fine feathered friends I come in peace.
Tags: crows, NPR, St. Lucia Jazz
