Caw Occasion, Part One

NOTE: My darling readers, let us reserve comments until you have read Caw Occasion, Part Two ... which I will post early next week! Have a wonderful weekend.

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A few days ago as I sat shackled to my desk, deadlines looming, I had the opportunity to witness God's nature and God's creatures behaving in ways altogether pleasant, comical, intriguing, and cautionary.

The reason being, TG and I share an office that is actually a sunroom with windows for walls, which windows afford a view of our deck and pool area along with some of what might be loosely referred to as landscaping.

We don't put too fine a point on that landscaping part. We do the best we can. Let's move on.

When he reached the first platform-type step leading to the house, he hopped up.

As the weather was very fine, Javier -- pronounced hah-vee-air or the diminutive hah-vee ... a/k/a Columbia's Finest Chihuahua -- was spending the day outdoors.

It was in fact the latest in a string of fine days ... temps hovering around 72 Fahrenheit with relatively low humidity, deciduous trees tenderly leafing out, dogwoods blooming, an abundance of breezes as balmy as they were fragrant, birds trilling excitedly, squirrels scampering madly along the privacy fence and amongst the branches.

Springtime! You get the picture.

In an effort to ensure Javier's complete comfort and enjoyment of the day, I had placed on the deck his cushy doggy bed, a supply of fresh water, and -- because he sometimes prefers to dine al fresco -- a dish of Purina Little Bites, his canine cuisine of choice.

(Or, our choice. Javier eats what we provide. To quote the tuneful, philosophizing mice of Babe fame: "It's the way things are.")

Periodically, to break the monotony of transcribing tedious testimony, I glanced up from my computer screen to watch Javier basking himself in the sun (it's so funny the way he squints), noshing on his kibble, or wandering around the entire area, checking his messages and sniffing at the wind.

Every now and then a flurry of furious barking would ensue as he decided to inform the birds and squirrels, as well as the 75-pound dog on the other side of the fence -- and for all I know the universe at large -- that of this bailiwick at least, he is master and commander.

Late in the day, as the shadows lengthened, I became aware of a commotion  -- a roiling ruckus, as it were -- outside, skyward. I needed to stretch anyway so I vacated my chair, went to the window-door, and looked up.

Crows. At least a dozen -- big, carbon-black, and all het up about something -- circled, whirling, in the airspace above our house and yard. A dozen more dominated the branches of our huge oak and the surrounding tall conifers.

Their aggressive and insistent language -- Caw! Caw! Caw! -- filled the atmosphere.  A cacophonous chorus of corvidae!

I watched for a few minutes, then went back to my desk, beginning to think about dinner.

Apparently I wasn't the only one. Almost immediately one of the crows touched down about two feet from pool's edge, on the concrete. Impossibly dark and shiny, oversized and intimidating, full of himself, he surveyed the area briefly before strutting towards the decking. When he reached the first platform-type step leading to the house, he hopped up.

I pray they receive the treatment the gate-crashing crow got from me.

It was then I knew what the crow was about. Without further ado, he commenced chowing down on an impromptu meal of Purina Little Bites. Casually, with no sign of fear or guilt (possibly because, when feeding, crows post sentinels), he consumed food that he had neither worked for nor been invited to share, and which in fact had been intended as sustenance for another party. Food that had been paid for by TG and me, with earnings secured by honest hard work.

Let's cut to the chase. Without benefit of a by-your-leave, the crow was eating my money!

I concluded that he is a Democrat. The fact that he is black is entirely incidental and not at all germane to the discussion. Do not call me a racist because that hound won't hunt.

Oddly however, throughout the episode our brave Javier (a staunch Republican) was nowhere to be seen.

Reminds me of Republican members of the 111th Congress! Where are they these days? As our liberties, livelihood, and last nickel are being madly consumed by a faaaaaaaar-left Democrat president and his quasi-criminal communistic cabinet, why are those who supposedly represent the rightful owners of this bounty -- i.e., product of the proverbial American Dream -- deathly silent?

Has all the Kool-Aid been consumed, or have they saved some for the next session? Have conservative congressmen and women been bound, gagged, and consigned to the grievous gaol of Compromise Anything But Whatever You Do, Get Reelected?

I believe they have. With few exceptions, those elected representatives who should be standing and fighting for the right against an unprecedented tidal wave of social and economic liberalism have been made prisoners of their own insatiable greed for power, position, and pelf.

And I hope they have a surprise coming next election ... as in, I pray they, together with their Botoxed and bedizened socialite spouses, receive the treatment the gate-crashing crow got from me.

I stormed outside and hollered at him to get out of Dodge, and he did, a single dot of kibble in his beak. He -- or one just like him; we didn't bother with introductions -- came back a few times to steal more, but I was ready for him. Eventually all the crows flew away, obviously having decided that the pickings weren't rich enough for the hassle they were getting.

Mah peeps, methinks there may be a lesson in there somewhere.

To be continued ...