I pull into the driveway, shut off the car, open the door and as I let the dogs out of the car I am filled with foreboding. It's that SOUND. CAW caw, CaW cAw CAW!! It's a murder of them.
I whirl around and several of the trees on my street are filled with crows. Dozens of them. And they're not happy. I know from news about corvid studies that they remember human faces and can pass along to their young, who is a good human and who is not-- from past encounters. (And the young will know them later!)
What are they so upset about? I scan the street but no one is about. There's nothing on the ground that could be menacing to them. So, as I survey upwards, I see it. The transformer on our block has done it again. Adhered to the large grey can at the top of the pole directly across the street is it's latest victim. It's wings are outstretched but vertically, and serenely fluttering in the light breeze. The electrocuted crow is hot glued by the claws to the can, and dangling like a headdress ornament on our power line pole.
It's a funeral!