Читать книгу Birds useful and birds harmful - J. A. Owen - Страница 14

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The Hooded Crow walks well, with head erect, moving its tail right and left as it goes. Its flight is easy, using comparatively little movement of the wings. This Crow usually makes its nest in the tops of high trees, preferably in one standing alone in a field; but sometimes on rocks. It does not build in colonies but usually settles alone, though occasionally two or three pairs will build on the edge of a wood or in a small plantation. The nest consists of twigs, roots, and grass; the hollow of the nest being safely lined; in the spring it contains four to six eggs of a light green colour speckled with grey and brown marks.

In mild seasons this bird has been known to pair, as early as the end of February, but the usual time is March. Then the construction and arrangements of the nest begins. The female bird, only, sits on the eggs; the male guards the nest and provides the food. When near the nest, he is a courageous, even daring bird, able to keep off such enemies as the Hawk or the Eagle. His cry is “kár, kár.”

The Hooded Crow is a clever intelligent bird. It easily adapts itself to circumstances; the wave-lashed rock, or the icy peak, are as acceptable to it as green meadows, or the palms and sycamores of Egypt; the woods, as welcome as the heart of the snug village, as the tiny garden round a peasant’s hut. It is omnivorous; so long as it can find food in forest or field, on the sea shore or river bank, it avoids the proximity of man; but when winter comes, it settles near inhabited districts and

CHIEFLY USEFUL.

THE HOODED OR ROYSTON CROW.

highroads, in order to seize upon anything eatable, however bad its condition.

And now let us investigate its actions, which divide men into two camps, one of which states that the Hooded Crow is harmful, the other that it is serviceable. First, as to the harm. It is true that this bird considers a young chicken a great delicacy, and so, takes one when it has a chance. But this happens very rarely, for the good mother-hen flies at the marauder, and raises a cry that brings out the people of the house to see what is the matter, and the Crow has to beat a retreat, without having secured its prey—or run the risk of having a wing broken by a stone, a rolling-pin, or other missile. Should it succeed in securing a chicken, then indeed it has done harm, but this happens so rarely, that the housekeeper does not make much account of it. It is also true that it attacks the timid little hares in the fields, and if the mother is absent, the young ones are quickly destroyed, and torn to pieces by two or three blows of the strong beak. In this case it is the sportsman who is most annoyed, for the farmer is no friend of the hare, which does great harm in the winter by gnawing the fruit trees. It is a known fact also that the Crow robs the nests of birds which are built on the ground in the fields, when it finds them. This also is harm, but the little birds exhibit wonderful instinct in hiding their nests, so that even the sharp-eyed Crow can rarely find one, especially when we consider that its attention is constantly being diverted from the search by a fat cricket or grasshopper, or a mouse slipping hurriedly by. Neither can it be denied that when the ears of maize are young and soft the Crows opens the husk with its beak and regales itself with the milky juice. This is indeed mischievous, but the harm is only local. A few farmers track it down, others do not, for about this time the bird begins to mend his ways. It cannot be denied either that it pecks young fruit of all kinds, and later pulls it off the trees, and if not driven away, considerable damage is done, especially if the orchard lies within a district where Crows abound. It is evident then that the gamekeeper must be allowed a little license, for where game is bred and preserved, especially in such places as Pheasant runs, the Crow may do much damage among the young birds; but why is the gamekeeper there, if not to scare away the feathered thieves with his gun? Once having experienced such a fright the Crow does not often return to the same place.

And now let us consider the bird’s good deeds.

The ploughman would be indeed unwise were he to scare away the Crow, that, following in the furrow of the plough, picks out from the freshly turned clods, the worms, grubs, and maggots, which are the farmer’s worst enemies; nor do the evicted tenants of overturned mouse-nests escape the strong beak of the bird;—and how busy it is when a plague of mice occurs, as it does in some seasons! Then occurs a wholesale massacre, and if this visitation happens in winter, the snow bears evident traces of the Crow’s sanguinary work.

It is also useful among the sheep and cattle, settling on their backs, and destroying the parasites that attack them. The beasts leave it undisturbed knowing that it is doing them good service. Neither must we forget that in villages, near human habitations it does excellent scavengering work. It knows the precise time at which the remnants of food are usually thrown out from the cottage on the rubbish heap, and waits on the roof, till the moment arrives when it can pounce on the promising morsels, which it carries away; thus removing what would otherwise soon have become putrid. In winter when pigs are killed, the Crows wait, among the neighbouring trees, for their share.

The only remaining question, then, is, in which part of the year this bird is harmful, and in which serviceable, and how long does each of these periods last. The destructive period is really of short duration, for the chickens soon grow into hens, the leverets become hares, the young birds leave the nests, the maize hardens, and ripe fruit lasts but a little while. That is to say, the destructive period lasts but a few weeks. And what does the Hooded Crow do for the rest of the year? It destroys insect pests, cleanses and purifies, and by its continuous activity, does a service to man, which no other creature could do.

Wherever and whenever this bird does harm it must be driven off, but not destroyed. The hens must be kept from roving, and the orchard must be watched. If it will not be scared away then it must be shot. But when busy in the furrow, the field, or the dunghill, let it be left in peace, for it is doing a beneficent work. Neither nature nor man can do without the Hooded Crow, and for this reason it must be treated indulgently.

The head, wings, tail, feet and throat of this bird are black, but not glossy; the lower breast, under-parts, and back ashen grey; the grey colour of the back forms a kind of mantle,—hence the name Mantle—or Hooded Crow. The strong curved beak is black, the nostrils covered by bristly feathers; the eyes dark brown; the feet strong and armed with thick scales, the soles rough.

To England and Wales the Hooded, often called the Grey or Royston Crow, is a regular and in many districts far too numerous a visitor, from October on during the winter. A few birds have remained to breed, and some cases of hybridism with the Carrion Crow occur in the North. In Ireland it has become a perfect scourge. In the Isle of Man it is said to nest each year. On the Scottish Mainland again they are far too many of this species. So greedy is he that Howard Saunders tells of having seen him eagerly devouring the carcase of a recently shot member of the same brood as himself. To some extent hybrids with the Carrion Crow are said to be fertile.

A Son of the Marshes says that the Cob—the Great Black-backed Gull, which is called the Carrion Gull, is a noble and open minded bird compared with the Dun Crow—the Hooded Crow of the foreshores. “His general conduct would lead you to think he was only looking about for amusement, up and down and over the water, just far enough to see if any prey, such as a dead fish or fowl, is washing in. He does not mean the gulls to share the spoil if he can help it. He flaps to the beach and out again just to make sure that it is coming all right, and gorbles to himself a little. This wave must beach it, he thinks; but no, with the receding of the wave the fish—a large dead skate—goes also. The next long roller may have more force in it, so he hopes, with half open wings and throat feathers puffed out, down to the very edge of the watery beach. Perching next on a large stone, with keen eye and outstretched neck, the bird sees it gather, a mile out. On it comes, gathering in force as it begins to crest up, until with a crash it breaks, and Hoody’s dead fish is flung high and dry almost at his feet. Hardly, however, has he had time to give one or two vicious digs at the now tender skin in order to get at his highly flavoured meat, when from all points of the compass other crows come shooting along like so many hawks to join in the banquet. We could have knocked them over well”, concludes our Marshman, “but on no account would we have done so for they were doing their appointed work, that of clearing up the refuse brought in by the tide, honestly and well. “Hoody” is one of the scavengers of the foreshores.”