It happened to me
A Real Case Of The Birds
My Bird-Loving Dog
Twenty-five years ago, I was living in Ann Arbor, Michigan, and sharing my home with two rescued, former racing Greyhounds. I owned a lovely house on the “untenured” side of Burns Park, not far from the campus of the University of Michigan, where I worked. These fantastic dogs were lightning fast when they played in the back garden. I once saw Argus, the larger of the two, swallow a small bird hovering nearby. I had tried to rescue it from his throat without success.
This particular day, when the dogs went out to do their business, Argus lunged at a crow and picked it right out of the air as it tried to fly away, injuring its wing. The several other crows present went ballistic and began attacking the dogs. I got them back in the house just in time.
I found myself with an injured crow hopping around the garden accompanied by its agitated companions, who were squawking up a storm. Of course, I immediately contacted the local bird rescue organization, which instructed me to capture the bird and bring it to them. “How on earth do I catch this bird with its friends dive-bombing me?” I said.
Get Marie Logan’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
They told me to use an umbrella to protect my head, which sounded feasible until I found myself with a cat carrier in one hand, a towel draped over my arm, and an umbrella in the other hand. I wasn’t sure how to scoop up the bird, but I somehow pinned the umbrella between my chin and shoulder and grabbed the frightened bird with a towel. With the bird safely in the crate, I finished packing for a weekend away and dropped it off on the way out of town so they could tend to its injuries. Mission accomplished, or so I thought.
When I returned on Sunday evening, I noticed loud cackling and screeching from the big walnut tree in the back. About 20 birds had congregated. They dove at the dogs and me every time we left the house. Each day, there were more and more birds; it was as if they were calling in daily reinforcements. It was eerie and menacing, like a real-life version of the Alfred Hitchcock film The Birds.
I called the local bird rescue in a panic, explaining the situation. “How is the injured crow doing?” I asked eagerly, “And most importantly, when can you bring it back?” “Crows are very smart. They know you took one of their flock away, and now they are bringing their friends to complain.” said the woman on the other end of the phone.
She explained they could not bring it back because the rest wouldn’t accept it once it had been separated from the others. I would have to wait until they forgot about the incident. “How long will that be?” I asked. “Could be weeks…or months,” she said. “They have long memories.”
I don’t think it’s a coincidence that a group of crows is called a “murder of crows.” They were insistent and seemed capable of anything. Many years later, I lived in Santa Cruz, California, and learned that the incident with the birds in Hitchcock’s film was not imaginary; it happened along the central coast near Santa Cruz but with thousands of sea birds. He lived in the Santa Cruz Mountains and investigated and took copious notes for his film.
This experience also gave me a wonderful, authentic Halloween costume idea for many years. I dressed as Tippi Hedren in the scene after she encountered the birds in the bedroom, with her torn clothing and bloody gashes.
In my case, they didn’t attack the house, and there was no need to search upstairs with a large flashlight like Tippi did in the film. After a few months, individual crows began to drift away until, thankfully, we were finally free from their ire. I have never looked at crows the same way since. I greatly respect their intelligence, and I try never to offend them.
