Hooded Crow (aka Hoodie) attacks the home of William Frederick! (Author and decent chap).
On Monday, Beloved had a frantic cleaning frenzy which included washing most of the windows in our home. Whilst this was occurring, I of course, snuck off and lurked by my Froggie Pond, threatening the Dragonfly Larvae with dire consequences should I catch them with my specialist equipment, a tea strainer taped to a walking pole. I chanced to notice a Hooded Crow raucously cackling at me from a large tree nearby. “Kwark… Kwark…” the Hoodie said. This translates as, “I’m going to crap all over your windows, fatty!” On my return, I was duly impressed at Beloved’s progress and made appropriate noises when I sidled in from our wilderness garden. “Cor!… Wow!…” and “Phew!” said I approvingly.
The place was punishingly tidy and clinically cleansed in a way that only the fairer sex can achieve. The windows were so clean we could see for miles, well, at least as far as the hills over the other side of the loch and that’s quite far enough for me. Any further and you’re into the realms of Johnny Foreigner!
Yesterday we ventured north and drove our trusty steed up to Oban, filled it with food and wine and came back again. A sensible sort of foray done on a day when we thought that Oban might be quiet and devoid of kids running around like a hoard of horrid little snot goblins. It wasn’t and I was soon knee deep in screaming kids.
We returned home and emptied the bags of shopping onto and into, shelves, fridge, freezer and larder cupboards in an efficient and timely manner. Beloved filled and then energised the calorifier (put the kettle on) and made a cup of tea as I wandered over to our study in order to sit down and rest my aching hips.
On entering the study (a phrase that is as inaccurate as it is overstated as the study is an area of our home that has no door), I was shocked to a point that lay way beyond aghast and indeed I had trotted past appalled, through the realms of stunned and had settled on astonished before I ran out of metaphors. After a hasty ‘whole house’ inspection, eight out of twelve of Beloved’s lovely clean windows had the imprint of a blooming Hooded Crow splodged onto it! The blighters had gone mental in our absence and been flying straight at the windows with some force. Each pane had a finely executed splat in the centre. I have attempted to photograph said splats, but it is awfully difficult to pick out an outline, thinly laid down in several shades of oily Crow ooze. See what you think. A note to any of my chums that have a shotgun (Eddie springs to mind), any chance of a borrow?
The problem with the family Corvid is that they have very sharp eyes, can spot a gun a mile away and know exactly what it is. Once spotted ‘they’re off’, as the racing fraternity would have it. For a bird-brain your average Corvid is extremely clever.
The best way to bag them is to sneak up under their nests which are made in tall trees, strongly, using mud and twigs. You can’t shoot through a Crows nest with an air rifle. Instead this is a job for a shotgun or if you are looking for fun perhaps an Anzio 20mm canon. It is advisable to have a shotgun with you and some very powerful cartridges. Cartridges that are designed for bringing down elephants should do the trick. Apparently one either waits under the Crow’s nest sporting one’s finest cammo’ gear or one can set up a portable cammo’ hide and sit in an armchair wearing evening dress and drinking a martini.
When the Crows come home to roost it is time to dispatch them from below, nest and all…