If anyone’s read the blog entries I’ve written, ‘yeah crazy’, is likely their first thought before moving on. But so what? I’ll wager I’m the only chick living in North Hollywood, or in all LA for that matter, stuck in the middle of an all out territory dispute with nature. Science and research need to take a closer look at Corvid’s capacity to understand human behavior beyond our own human understanding of ourselves. A record of corvid social behavior and mating patterns is important, but observing interaction between human and crow is far more interesting. Agrippa and I have an unlikely bond, one-of-a kind, forged by the simple act of recognition of each other as individuals among their own respective and populous kind.

Thursday is a day of the week I refer to as ‘mental health Thursday’. I use to attend group therapy on Thursdays, but stopped last year after the move over the hill. Thursday is still mental health day, but I see one person rather than a group. When I think about the old Thursday group sessions, I remember crow calls outside the building while Wayne and I walk to and from our cars. After therapy we’d drive to a breakfast joint and Agrippa flys ahead of the car to let me know he’ll meet us on arrival.

The level of crow and bird drama Thursday morning is practically non-existent in the new apartment. Thursdays in Venice were horrible in comparison, and Agrippa’s harassment outside the apartment created real tension in the overcrowded beach community. I know I heard applause when I left the area for my 7:00 a.m. appointment. Agrippa is excited on Thursdays, and though he still caws and makes a fuss in the morning, he’s limited by Henry’s ability to tolerate his presence.

When I met Wayne on Thursday, I ask him why he thinks our meeting day holds so much importance to Agrippa? His interpretation and reply is ‘he’s holding on to the familiar’. The familiar. The repetition. The routine. His interpretation made sense.

Wayne is the other human bond I consistently reinforce, and when I’m away from LA Agrippa and his gang of NoHo baddies search him out.  4 to 5 crows show up at his apartment and even stalk him to work and home again. When I’m home on Thursdays, Agrippa knows there is a 90 percent chance I’ll leave the apartment early and meet people, or a person, at a location. The location changes; an office building, a coffee shop, a park, a restaurant, but always a human connection. I’ve learned Thursday is an important day of the week for him to reaffirm our bond. I imagine him thinking, ‘move to a new place and take away our regular bike rides, but I’ll be damn to hell if you fuck with our Thursdays’. At least, that’s what I hear when he stands his ground against Henry perched on a telephone pole close to the balcony and caws ‘Thursday! Thursday! Thursday!’


After two months convalescence in a small eastern Ontario (Canada) town, I’ve returned home injured and walking wth a cane. Of course, my aviary waited for me in LA. Perfect for an injured crow. I wonder if Agrippa feels betrayed after a two month absents? I thought of him time to time as winter turned to spring beneith my prison window. The bond is strong on both ends I suppose, but my human bond tethers me to this place and Agrippa knew I’d return eventually. He’s seen me leave before, though I’m sure he had moments of doubt this time around.

What a way to start the year. What do people say about breaking a body part at the start of a new year? Is it an omen? Do people say it’s an omen? I think it’s an omen, but a good omen. Only the best days ahead for 2019, or least minus tramatic or debilitating events. During recovery in the sleepy little snow covered town, I spent time with my brother, his family and the dogs, and watched plenty of Hockey Night in Canada with Mom and Dad. See? Good things from bad already.

My arrival marks an end to the temporary reprieve in the war between Raven and Crow. I’ll never escape the crow v.s raven territory dispute, my insane albatros. I’ve learned to accept a basic fact; as long as I live in this apartment a war is certain to continue. The raptor of the corvid nature, without question, is smart, or smarter, than any chimp. The unusual bond Agrippa and I have is destined to shape all the years I reside in this city.

I wake early and nary a bird chirp to met me. Unaware of my return, the silence is golden until mid morning. I limp around the kitchen to make coffee and hear the first crow call. One of Agrippa’s sentinals. Clever bird. Agrippa’s caw is like any human voice. Distinct, one of kind, and unquestionably recognizable. The little birds hear the sentinal’s call go out and grow excited. Then, the rottweiler next door breaths out a low, sad, rumble. A heartbreaking growl. The beautiful silence, a silence he remembers back before we moved onto the street, is broken.

The reception lights my heart. 10-15 crows hearald my return and an end to a sad, gloomy Agrippa. Finally, a reunion and every crow in his new crew is invited to the party. A group gathers around the skylight to caw and jump up and down on the plastic dome. The window shades drawn wide reveal a broken crow, limping on a cane and exibiting signs of pain, injury and weakness. Agrippa calls to me several times over the next few days, but where is Henry the raven? The crow invasion signals my return to the bird cage, and like the neighboring rottweiler lamenting silent days, Henry, perched high, drops his head and sighs heavily before he picks up a stone.

So, here I sit three weeks after my arrival and change is in the air. First, the relentless hourly raven stone bombs on the skylight seem to have ceased to disturbing levels of quite. Why Henry? What is your strategy now? Is a new brood to rear and nest to build confine you? Is Agrippa at a distance in the daytime hours (except in the morning – he has to see me at in the morning) until I fully recover? Is my injury and temporary housebound state set a new stage? Or do the actors performing in our strange little play finally accept the part they’ve been cast?