Well, its Sunday morning. Gloria and I went bowling last night and I bowled lousy as usual and Gloria beat me in most game. Shes lucky I let her win.....yeah, right. It snowed last night and now its raining. I had to do my usual civic duty and take my shovel out front and clear the storm drain because the usual lake is there from clogged storm drains. Im sure the city would do it but they have to wait until it stops raining, the snow all melts and the water disappears down the storm drain so they can find the storm drain. Now Im sitting here at my computer after completing another dissertation to bestow upon you. After I did the story about Louie a few days ago my thoughts turned to things I have experienced with Louie through the years. Louies pet crow Blackie came to mind. (By the way, Louie has returned home from the hospital and is doing fine. Thanks to all of you for your thoughts and prayers.) I hope you enjoy my story about Louies crow Blackie. BLACKIE Growing up in rural Lenox, Massachusetts brought fond memories of living on a small farm with a close-knit family. As children, our primary toys were those we made ourselves along with various outdoor activities. We got our first television set in 1951. I was 8 years old at the time and the big attractions back then were westerns. Roy Rogers, The Lone Ranger, Lash LaRoue, Wild Bill Hickock, Hapalong Cassidy just to name a few. My favorite was Roy Rogers. If you remember, Roy Rogers sidekick was Pat Bradey. Pat drove an old jeep he called Nellie Belle. This fact and the fact that dads name was Nelson, or nicknamed Nellie, gave me the idea to name my old Model A Ford Nellie Belle. Many days I spent driving old Nellie Belle around the farm lots and through the woods at the tender age of 8. We lived next door to an old hermit, and believe me this was a full-fledged hermit with extensive knowledge of “living off the land.” He was an old tree surgeon who fell out of a tree and walked with a limp from that day forward. He liked to drink just about anything that sent him into La-La-Land. His name was Wheeler and we called him Wheel for short. Many summer days I spent sitting in his kitchen watching him tap on the window as snakes crawled along the window sill sunning themselves. They would slither up onto the glass to check out the tapping noise from within. When you entered Wheels cabin there was a dirt-floor entryway where he kept his boots and coats and a pail of fresh water he retrieved from the shallow twelve-foot well he had hand dug and rock walled. He had a “root celler” outside dug out of a high bank where he kept his prepared meats and canned fruits and vegetables he put up from his garden and fruit trees. The root cellar had stone walls inside covered by a board roof covered with tar paper and about 6 feet of earth. I remember walking into this root cellar in the winter when it was zero outside and not one canning jar was frozen. He said the temperature remained at around 40 degrees throughout the winter. While sitting in his kitchen/living room, I remember looking into his bedroom and seeing snake skins hanging through the warped ceiling above his bed. Mom used the cringe when I headed over there but I reassured her that Wheel and his animal kingdom were of no threat to me. Actually, I learned a lot about caring for pets from the things he taught me. His two nephews and I used to go down to the Housatonic River and hunt and kill snapping turtles. We were about 8 years old at the time. We would bring along our red flyer wagon and put the snapper into it and bring it to Wheel. He paid us $5 for each good sized turtle we brought. Back in the early fifties a couple of dollars bought a lot of marbles. I never knew much about what he did with the turtles until I was fourteen and got a job working at Chef Carl’s Restaurant in Lenox Village. When Chef Carl heard where I lived he asked if I knew old Wheeler. Through conversing with him I found out that he used to buy “snapping turtles” from Wheeler for turtle soup. It was then I also found out that he paid Wheeler $15 per turtle. We did all the work to split $5 three ways and old Wheeler profited $10 for merely delivering the turtles. This was our first lesson in the business world. I remember one day when Louie said he was going over to check out some baby crows Wheel had rescued from their nest as a hawk flew above checking it out. Of course, I was Louie’s tag along brother and had to go with him. Wheel told us that not only did he manage to rescue the crows but he was going to set a trap to get the hawk and train it, which he did. It was quite common to go into Wheeler’s cabin entryway and find a cage with an injured animal with a splint on its leg or wing. He’d nurse the animal through the winter and let it go in the spring. The first things Wheel did with the crows was “split their tongues” and clip their wings as they grew so they couldnt fly away. He said splitting the tongue allowed the crow to caw in different sounds than normally and “almost talk.” I can’t say I ever heard the crows talk, but they sure did a lot of annoying “cawing.” Louie was so taken with the entire process that Wheel said he would give one of the crows to Louie as long as he kept his wings clipped and took good care of him. I must say after having dogs, cats, hamsters, rabbits, etc. for pets this was one of the most unusual pets of all. I can’t remember what Louie named it, but I think it was “Blackie” and from here forward Ill call him Blackie. Through our experience with Blackie we realized crows actually have personalities. They are connivers, crooks, mischief makers, cunning and persistent. I can still hear my dad’s hearty laughter every time that crow did something to rile up my mother. My dad would say, “look, there goes Blackie, ready to antagonize your mother.” Sure enough, my mother would be hanging the wash on the clothesline and Blackie would peak around the corner and make sure she wasn’t looking and jump up and half-fly onto the line and, one at a time, pull the clothespins off the clothes and watch them fall to the ground. Then he’d hop away around the corner to be out of harm’s way when she discovered the clothes on the ground. We realized we should have warned her but that would ruin Blackies fun. One day she caught Blackie in the process and chased him around with a broom for about 10 minutes until she couldn’t run any longer. The crow would periodically look back to see if she was still in chase – sort of “keeping up the game.” I remember my mother’s obsession with her prize tomatoes. She and the neighbor next door would often “loudly discuss” who had the best looking tomatoes. Each spring she’d check the seed catalogs and send for those tomato plants that would harvest the largest, juiciest tomatoes. Because we had the fertilizer from the cows and chickens, her garden was extremely productive. There were three things I hated to do in those days: weeding the garden, churning butter and taking the “family trip” to the mountains to pick blueberries. Mom did a lot of canning and we always had blueberries throughout the winter months, along with canned vegetables, other fruits and plenty of potatoes. On this particular “summer of the crow,” she had outdone herself and had one of the largest tomatoes I’d ever seen. She actually sent me next door when no one was around to check out his tomatoes to see if he had one as large. I must say, this time she was in the lead. Each day she would go out to the garden and check it. She kept a special fence around it just that plant to keep unwanted critters away from it, especially “Blackie the Antagonizer.” Every time she was out weeding the garden Blackie would hop to the edge of the garden, peek around the corner to make sure her head was turned and then run like hell to the tomato plants, take a few pecks at 3 or 4 tomatoes and run like hell back to safety usually with her in full chase, throwing small stones and dirt at him as she shooed him from the garden. My dad said that mom’s reaction was exactly what Blackie wanted. It was a game and she was his “sparring partner.” Blackie also loved to incite our 6 large white ducks. Blackie would peak around the corner of the house and watch the ducks lying in the sun with their heads tucked under their wings. He would run out and peck one of the ducks on the tail feathers and run like hell around the house with all 6 ducks in full chase. They never did catch Blackie because he would hop and fly in spurts. Again, this was a game and the ducks were his “playmates!” Quite often mom would complain of missing jewelry, silverware, small mirrors, etc. and found out from talking with old Wheel that it was most likely the crow stealing stuff. He said that he was always missing shiny objects and crows loved to take them and hide them. Wheel and mom asked us kids to watch the crows and follow them whenever they got hold of anything shiny. One day it happened, we saw Blackie take a shiny screw he found on the ground. We followed him as he hopped and half-flew approximately a quarter-mile down the road to an old marsh area with a large dead tree in the center. He hopped and flew up until he reached the crotch of the tree, dropped the screw and headed back home, probably in search of more treasures. Louie and I went home and got an old wooden ladder and waded out into the marsh (Louie up to his waist and me almost up to my neck.) We leaned the ladder against the tree and Louie went up the ladder as I held onto the ladder for dear life as the ladder and I slowly sunk into the mud. I was now definitely up to my neck telling Louie to hurry before I drowned. I think Louie deliberately took his time hoping I’d half-drown so I’d stop following him around. Anyways, there in the crotch of the tree was a nest chocked full of shiny objects: spoons, forks, jewelry, etc….old Wheel was right. We returned objects to Wheel and mom and periodically would check the nest and bring back the stolen objects. Some of the objects didn’t belong to any of us and we often wondered where in hell Blackie and Wheel’s crow got them. Our house had a full upstairs “attic room” complete with windows. The room was partitioned off into 3 rooms for me and my brothers. Most mornings our wake-up call was Blackie pecking at Louie’s bedroom window and cawing at the top of his vocal cords until he woke Louie. It was daylight and he wanted Louie to feed him. I must say Louie wasn’t impressed with being awakened every morning at 5AM. Old Wheeler told Louie that sometime soon after the crow gained full growth he should let his wings grow out so he could fly off, mate and make his way in the wild. That’s what Louie did. One problem; the crow didn’t want to leave. He would fly from tree to tree as we walked a mile to the school bus stop. Louie would yell at him and throw small pebbles at him to get him to go back home, but to no avail. When we boarded the bus Blackie would fly along with the bus all the way to the school. Then, he would fly to each window until he spotted Louie and would peck at the school window to get Louie’s attention. Of course, the classroom teacher would go over and open the window and shoo Blackie away. We got so we would put out some food around the back of the house for Blackie and run like hell down the road while he was eating. That seemed to work. Blackie then would stay at home “bugging” mom! That went on for several weeks, and then one day it happened. As we were outside my father looked up into the trees and said, “look, up there!” We looked up and there was Blackie cawing away at another crow. We assumed it was a female because it was somewhat smaller than Blackie. Louie’s crow began to spend more and more time with this crow and less and less time around the house and, eventually, was gone. I must say, my mom didn’t seem upset about his departure. She didn’t wash nearly as many clothes. The ducks got much more sleep. There was a larger harvest of tomatoes and, shiny objects remained where they belonged. I was heartbroken when Blackie took his final flight and I thought Louie would have been more heartbroken. However, it was around this time Louie got his driver’s license and started to show interest in girls and to me, now an 11-year-old….he started acting stupid…imagine choosing a girl over a crow…..you can’t get much more stupid than that !!
Posted on: Sun, 04 Jan 2015 13:33:12 +0000
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