The Ravens (funny, I just feel like they should be capitalized) are getting pretty cozy with me.  I have two that I see every day, and I can’t believe how casual they’ve become with proximity. They let me get closer than I’ve ever been to a raven, but that may be because I am acknowledged as the purveyor of kitchen scraps.

I haven’t seen them necking, but I suspect they are a mated pair.  I hope they have a nest nearby or will next year; I’ve never been close to a raven chick and that would be fun to watch.  They spend their time lumbering around the paddock and lurking around the chicken coop, and they make short work of anything that goes in the compost, which is really inaptly named now, as nothing has time to compost.  Except for the onions.  They don’t care for onion breath, it seems.

They are loud!  Not their voices (not just), but the air they beat with their wings, and the thump they make landing on the ground or a roof.  From inside, I can hear them land on the ground! The noise they make clattering around on the steel shed roofs is unholy, and more than once has brought me outside to see what’s making the car crash noises. They are big, heavy birds, and they act like it too.  Somehow they make walking look ponderous and wearying, and every takeoff looks like a hard won battle with gravity.

So, we are supporting them with leftovers; I love their constant presence, love that they trust me so much, and yet I fear that they will kill chickens once the chickens are freed to range.  The robin I had lost her nestful, and I blamed the cat for awhile, but I eventually figured out it was likely the Ravens.

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