The crows are the silliest, sneaky, gossips on Hippy Hill. During the winter, we feed them our food scraps rather than adding to the compost pile. They fly in nonchalantly and loiter in the trees after scraps are put out for them. When they finally venture to the ground, they strut, looking all around as they surreptitiously get closer to the scraps, just before they make a mad grab at the goods and fly off.
I always want to yell out to them, “Hey you! You silly crows, those scraps are for YOU. You’re not sneaking anything!”