Corvo Ludens

 In Worthing, the dogs are back on the beach (from which they are banned from May to September) and are happily chasing balls thrown by their obliging owners. And now the crows, of which there are legions, are joining in. Keeping a beady eye on what's going on, as they always do, they have taken to swooping down and grabbing the ball before the dog can reach it, flying off a little distance, then tossing it down to the ground again for the dog to retrieve (or not, if the crow changes its mind and picks it up again). The crows seem to be having as much fun as the dogs, playing this game. I didn't see it myself, but it has been reported by reliable witnesses, and, really, it's not all that surprising: as well as being highly intelligent, crows do seem to enjoy a game. Among other frivolous pursuits, they particularly enjoy sliding down slopes, hanging upside-down from branches, and hiding non-edible objects just for the hell of it. Playing with dogs on the beach might  be seen as just another step in the triumphant progress of the corvids. In my boyhood, crows (Carrion Crows) were a country bird that didn't often show up in town, and it was still true that if you saw a solitary bird it would be a crow, and if you saw a flock they'd be rooks. Now huge numbers of crows are all over our towns and suburbs, along with other former country-dwellers – magpies, jackdaws, jays. Even ravens are now turning up in town, and only the rook remains a country bird. The corvids, love them or loathe them, have been a huge avian success story. For myself, I've always been fond of crows, for all their deplorable ways. I'm with Kay Ryan on this one – 

Felix Crow

Crow school

is basic and

short as a rule—

just the rudiments

of quid pro crow

for most students.

Then each lives out

his unenlightened

span, adding his

bit of blight

to the collected

history of pushing out

the sweeter species;

briefly swaggering the

swagger of his

aggravating ancestors

down my street.

And every time

I like him

when we meet.