The roof banged with the tumult of hail stones. “What is that?” I muttered, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I tied my shoes and headed for the door. The noise stopped. Okay then, back to bed. I kicked off my shoes, fluffed the pillow and pulled the sheet over my shoulder.
Clicks and taps, like an avian Morse code, demolished the possibility of sleep. It’s birds, I thought. Big ones. Five Ravens hammered upon the tin roof. Another group gathered on the lawn, bits of bread and vegetable peels spread before them.
“Aw come on, stay out of the compost guys.” One raven had wriggled under the compost cover and delivered tidbits to his buddies. At the sound of my voice, they lifted skyward in unison, flew over my car, and bombed it. Had it been one splat, I might have thought it an accident. However, ten well placed dumps coated my car, back, front and windshield. -And not dainty little droppings, but wide rounds as thick as pancake batter.
I like ravens. They’re smart, cheeky, and handsome birds. Though I hope it doesn’t happen again, it was kinda cool to be the recipient of a corvid prank.
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