One of the greatest failures of my life to date (along with my sons’ shameful inability to eat apples correctly, down to the core) is my inability to attract a “crow bro”. That’s a corvid companion, and more and more people apparently have them, including Washington Post journalist Caitlin Gibson, who recently wrote about hers, Cormac, a charismatic fish crow with a taste for cashews.
It’s not a new phenomenon – Charles Dickens had a pet raven, Grip; Truman Capote had a crow called Lola – but thanks to CrowTok (a wholesome online enclave where people post enthusiastically about the exploits of their feathery familiars), there seem to be more corvid whisperers than ever. Yet however many unshelled peanuts (the recommended treat) I scatter, I can never seem to get a shred of attention from a black-feathered beauty.
