Not till I had crawled up to the brush fence, on the very edge of the
grove, and peeked through did I see the performer. Out on the end of a
long delicate branch, a few feet above the ground, a small crow was
clinging, swaying up and down like a bobolink on a cardinal flower,
balancing himself gracefully by spreading his wings, and every few
minutes giving the strange cracking sound, accompanied by a flirt of
his wings and tail as the branch swayed upward. At every repetition
the crows _hawed_ in applause. I watched them fully ten minutes before
they saw me and flew away.
Several times since, I have been attracted by unusual sounds, and have
surprised a flock of crows which were evidently watching a performance
by one of their number. Once it was a deep musical whistle, much like
the _too-loo-loo_ of the blue jay (who is the crow's cousin, for all
his bright colors), but deeper and fuller, and without the trill that
always marks the blue jay's whistle. Once, in some big woods in Maine,
it was a hoarse bark, utterly unlike a bird call, which made me slip
heavy shells into my gun and creep forward, expecting some strange
beast that I had never before met.
The same love of variety and excitement leads the crow to investigate
any unusual sight or sound that catches his attention.
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