My dear old Uncle Harvey, one of Mum’s second cousins, ran sheep out Tooraweenah way, near Gulargambone.
In the ‘50s I would stay on the station during school holidays, having been shipped off from Kingsford Smith in a Butler Air Transport DC-3 to spend quality bush time with my cousins.
Back then tennis at someone’s property was a real social occasion. One Sunday a doubles match was in full swing when there was a shotgun blast. A visiting farmer had apparently brought along more than just his racket because a crow, an interested spectator in a nearby tree, was spectating no longer. The game continued, with the goggle-eyed kid from Sydney the only one thinking anything unusual had happened. That was my introduction to the bushies’ relationship with crows.
I then lost touch with the bush until a hitch-hiking trip around NSW brought back memories. Stuck by the road for 10 hours west of Cobar, where I had been dropped by a couple of ’roo shooters, my only company for much of that time was a crow. I was unarmed so he was safe with me. Was I safe with him?
According to the CSIRO: “The Australian crow is a peaceful bird, showing no aggression toward humans or other birds without reason. However, crows are frequently blamed for the loss of young lambs. Scientific observation in the country's southeast showed the killing of healthy lambs was rare, but sick animals were predisposed to being attacked.” So, the tennis day massacre may or may not have been justified.
Here we are several decades later, watching the comings and goings at a newly built crows’ nest in a tall gum about 200m from the home paddock. (Our previous Sydney address was … wait for it … Crows Nest).
Having read a bit about their habits I think I’m almost developing a soft spot for the big black things. The nesting pair are regular drinkers at our birdbath, and dear wife has christened the male Russell.
Crows are pretty intelligent, more so than galahs or magpies for example when it comes to road sense. Ever seen a crow as road kill? Nope, they’re sharp.
The famous slow, high ah-ah-aaaah, with the last note drawn out, is their territorial call. A pair often makes a low murmuring sound when preening each other, and members of a flock* chatter quietly while at rest. Crows flying together make a single high-pitched aah when they’re over another territory, to sort of say G’day, and they’ll give a longer aah with a downward inflexion when returning to the nest and the missus.
Crows mate for life, but sometimes one male mates with two females in adjacent territories. Hmm, he’d have to be careful which aah he used with which mate.
We’ll watch our pair and see if youngsters have hatched. I’m betting like most baby birds they’ll be demanding and ugly, with faces only a mother could love.
*Crows don’t gather in flocks. The collective noun is a murder of crows. Two crows together is an attempted murder.
