Near the Yesler and 12th, the crows go crazy. I've been in this situation before. And what I learned is that crows do not make lots of noise for no reason. What is going on here? What's their bloody problem? I look up. 15 or so crows on power lines and tree branches. I look down... a dead crow on the road. Yes, I have been in this situation before. And so I do what I didn't do the last time: I stop, slowly turn, and quickly walk away from the commotion. The crows do not chase me, as they did the last time when I walked by a dead bird like it ain't no thing.


The crows return their attention to their fallen brother or sister. I cross the street and observe the situation from a safe distance. The worried birds on the lines and branches; the dead bird on the street; the cars running over the dead bird. The crows (which are increasing in number, flying in from all points of the sky) can do something about the pedestrians but nothing about the cars. Suddenly I'm moved. All of this care, this cawing, this concern, this effort to save, revive, protect one of their own. This is not about food. This is about friendship. These birds are profoundly social. It's a sociality that can fathom death. A sociality that puts pigeon sociality in the shade. I can't imagine pigeons forming a circle of concern over one of their kind. Crows are no longer on my hate list.