This is my friend Alastor (the crow; the human is me). My kid and I were on our way to get a present for a friend, on the way to his birthday party. After much consideration and research we'd
decided to get a Mad-Eye Moody pop doll, which was available downtown.
As we approached a bus stop I use frequently we saw something in the gutter, in the distance. Later we discovered that we both thought, independently (paraphrased), "Oh look, a bird, no, never
mind, it's a trash bag blowing in the wind." Then it raised a very obvious wing and we both said out loud (paraphrased), "Holy crap, that's a crow!"
We rushed over there and indeed, it was (as you can see) a young crow. This was October, so he (we know now; thought at the time it was a female) must have been about a year and a
half old, so around half a year away from his parents. Judging from how the whole scene looked, it was my assessment that he had succumbed to a very common accident among young birds, and
panicked when a car/truck/bus went past him, flying right into the side of a moving vehicle. I couldn't really assess whether he'd make any kind of a recovery or not so I picked him up
carefully, supporting his neck, and nestled him into my arms. We talked about it for a second and decided to go home and, if he'd made it that far, call the Animal Ambulance to have him taken to
the bird hospital.
We had gone no more than ten meters when he woke up. He lifted his head, gave his surroundings a good look, and gave me a good look, My kid took this photo. I used my right hand to shell and
crush some of the peanuts I always carried with me at the time (it's dry cat food now), and he accepted some, which was a very good sign. We continued walking toward home.
After about two minutes Alastor started to very gently try to worm his way out of my grasp. He wasn't panicked or even particularly concerned, but he wanted me to let go. I gently spread my hand
wide and asked him, "Can you fly?" He could.
Alastor is three now, and comes to see me, with his mate Jo (for obvious reasons), whenever I walk into that area. He's a cautious bird now, as I expect one would be when one of one's earliest
memories is an immense event, an overwhelming slam, and waking up being held by a massive creature one has been taught to fear. I'm glad. I want him to live as long as my beloved Olenna, who
passed away this year at somewhere above 20 years old.
Enjoy these (not particularly good, sorry) pictures of Alastor and Jo.
