There is a corpse in our backyard.
I am unsure if it is a crow corpse, another manner of bird, or some other poor woodland creature.
…perhaps I should explain.
Boxnoggin went out after dinner and proceeded to chase a crow who did not immediately take off. It hopped along, and I attempted to drag him away from it while the local murder lost their collective minds.
Fortunately he loses interest the moment prey stops moving. The crow went to the northeast corner of the yard, I hauled him away and (cruelly) made him do his business somewhere crow-free.
When I got him back into the house (Miss B was left alone, as she doesn’t give a good goddamn and the corvidae respect that in a woman) I went northeast again to see what the hell.
I caught a glimpse of something feathered wedged between the chain link fence and the kitty-corner neighbors’ board fence.
And the murder again lost their collective minds.
They were unwilling to listen to reason like they generally do, so I wisely retreated. They don’t even want me to water.
I can’t be sure if they’re guarding food or one of their injured coevals, or both.
Looks like I’m going to have to wait until dark and go out with a torch, some gloves, and a broom or shovel.
As one does when there is a corpse in the yard. *sigh*
Honestly, the way today’s gone, I’m unsurprised. Of course today would end with a corpse in the yard. Of COURSE.
..the Princess just came down the hall and said, “I don’t think the crow’s dead?”
I must investigate.
Okay. So either we have a corpse wedged in the fence AND a crow who for some reason can’t fly away, or the thing wedged in the fence was the crow which has worked its way out and apparently cannot fly?
We have named the crow on the ground “Jerry” because that’s what the others seem to be yelling at it.
“JERRY! GET YOUR ASS UP HERE!”
“I CAN’T!”
“WHY NOT?”
“I DON’T KNOW, DON’T ASK ME.”
The plan is still to wait for nightfall and ascertain whether or not there is indeed a corpse wedged in the fence. Then I will deal with Jerry.
The good news is we have a box big enough for crow rehabilitation.
The downfall to this cunning plan is that at night I might not be able to find Jerry’s location with the requisite accuracy? And of course Jerry might be unwilling to be helped.
But notwithstanding Jerry’s location after dark, it’s still the corpse in the fence I’m considering a larger problem most in need of immediate solution.
And of course this hinges on whether I am correct about crows being properly diurnal.
TO THE GOOGLE!
Okay. Jerry is not a baby bird or fledgeling, so a cardboard box with a towel and maybe some food or water until a licensed rehabilitation person can be reached is our plan.
Assuming we can find Jerry in the dark.
…how, in God’s name, do I get *into* these situations?
I peered out my window and yelled “IS THAT JERRY ON THE TABLE?”
My daughter, watching from the French door in the dining room, yelled back. “FUCKING HELL I THINK JERRY JUST FLEW!”
Jerry somehow got onto the table on the patio, and glided towards the trellis. There’s a lot of flapping wing action. It has been suggested that maybe Jerry just has a sprain instead of a broken wing or something.
My daughter says this rules out a corpse in the fence. I am not so sure. I am neither ruling out a fence-corpse OR Jerry needing some form of assistance. Both can be equally true, and that is wisdom born of age, my friends.
So IF we can find Jerry in the dark we can get him in a cardboard box on the table on the patio and his friends can find him in the morning.
Which leaves just the fence-corpse to deal with. In the dark, too.
Suddenly my night is packed.
Jerry’s friends are still yelling their name. “JERRY!”
“FOR GODSAKE WHAT?”
“WILL YOU GET UP HERE?”
“I CAN’T.”
“JERRY, THE BEAST COULD COME BACK AT ANY MOMENT.”
“NOT HELPING, CARL.”
Carl is what we have named the crow standing guard over Jerry. Carl has dive-bombed both Boxnoggin and yours truly, attempting to keep Jerry safe.
Carl is not to be fucked with.
I am pretty sure it’s Jerry and Carl who have been filling the birdbath with cracked peanut shells.
The conversation between me and my daughter:
“Where the fuck is Carl?”
“I don’t see…is that Carl over there?”
“I don’t know, is he losing his shit on a branch and yelling WHERE’S JERRY? Otherwise he could be Sandra.”
“Who the fuck’s Sandra?”
“I DON’T KNOW, DON’T ASK ME.”
“It looks like it might rain.”
“So the others will roost and I can go out and…find Jerry. In the rain.”
“I’ll hold the umbrella.”
“What if Carl attacks?”
“I don’t want to add to your bird rehab list BUT I WILL IF I HAVE TO.”
My daughter, being an empiricist, doubts the existence of the corpse in the fence. She says it’s possible it was Jerry. I say he’d have to do some David Copperfield Harry Houdini shit to get out of the fence. She points out Jerry IS a crow.
(I cannot fucking believe I am typing this.)
All right. I’m going back to check on Jerry Watch 2021.
@lilithsaintcrow my inner son of a preacher man says you're asking a lot of questions that are answered by the questions
Michael W Lucas¹
@lilithsaintcrow You open your eyes and observe the world. 
Jerry’s wings appear to work but they still seem uncertain. And I am tormented by the glimpse I caught of the corpse wedged in the fence. The corpse that might have been Jerry.