Animals often find galoots irresistible. Especially dashing ones.
I was with my guys Micah and Isaiah in August, scoping out the local wildlife preserve. As rain misted onto our noggins, we frolicked through the damp park. The animals were cool, but the nature-y playground equipment was even better. We pranced around on the oversized plastic leaves and rocks. Ages 4-14? Only a suggestion.
The main attraction, however, was the wolves. Several pale grey animals huddled near the fence, the dirt shallowly trenched as if the convicts had attempted tunneling out. They were silent and sleepy.
That was boring.
I tilted up my head mournfully and pursed my lips. “Oooooooooooo.”
A couple wolves turned their heads. One made a high pitched whine. “Shut yo ugly face,” I think it meant.
“C’mon, help me out,” I said, gesturing to Micah and Isaiah. We tried our best to seduce the wolves into howling.
No luck. They were less amused than a cowboy at a salad bar. We gave up and left for the coyotes.
The coyotes had life! One was moving around, even! It made a barking noise. I copied. Its head whipped around. I couldn’t tell if it was love or loathing in its eyes. No matter. I wanted more of it.
“Yip yip yip yip yip,” I chirped. Suddenly, I heard something behind me. Howling.
We booked it back to the wolves. Poor lonely coyote. All the wolves were on their haunches wailing at the sky. Clearly my coyote mating cry had triggered something deep inside of them. They went on and on and on; it was hilarious.
Ode to Eating Wannabe Coyotes lasted a couple minutes. Several people were rushing around the corner to witness it when the wolves quit. That was it.
We walked off. I was inordinately proud of my wolf-whispering skills. Soon a large cage full of big black birds loomed before us. Crows. My nemesis.
I glared at them. They glared at me. The crows knew I could make a better crow noise than them.
I could, in fact. Micah pointed out a nearby sign. They were ravens.
Foiled again. My hatred for crows grew larger. I began to see them everywhere. Had they always been lurking? Or was there a murder plot?
Why You Should Mock Crows
It shouldn’t have taken me so long to realize such a simple fact: crows are up to no good. No self-respecting creature always wears all black. They would at least change their clothes.
And the ungodly squawks emerging from their hideous beaks? If someone had laryngitis, a throat tumor, and half a potato wedged in their esophagus they would still sound better than crows.
It wasn’t hard for me to mimic them. “Caw, caw,” I croaked. “Caw, caw,” they cackled back.
“Blighters,” I muttered. Always befouling the air with their hideous cacophony. Something had to be done.
Nothing too serious. Crows know enough about murder as it is – no need to give them ideas. Instead, I decided, crows deserved to have their pitiful existence brutally mocked.
By me. And now you.
These birds are so evil that they flock onto the chapel, roosting like God’s house is their easy chair. Such conceited codsnoggers would need more than the average dose of humility sauce.
How to Mock Crows
It isn’t easy to mock crows. There’s plenty of subject material, but when you get up close to deliver the goods, the cawards retreat into a tree. I have to yell my insults, which takes out the subtlety of the thing.
A creative mind can bypass these obstacles. First, grab their attention. When you hear their ghastly calls, copy them. Their beady little pinprick eyes will focus on you. You keep cawing. They are flabbergasted, not sure whether to be amused, flattered, or offended. You then ensure that it is the latter.
“You are what you eat, crows: rotten cafeteria food!”
You continue on, insulting their figure, their skinny legs, their general ugliness, and their mothers.
After they are sufficiently humiliated, you break in to the age old classic tune:
Crow, crow, crow, you goat, I'll haunt you in your dreams. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, Whack you with a beam.
Your duty done, you proceed with life.
