Carl the Crow

A few days ago, I wrote about my childhood quail friend named Henry. Actually, what inspired me to reminisce about Henry was a new friend I have made.
His name is Carl. He is a crow.
Every morning I walk between one and two miles along Bear Creek Road where I live in Taney County close to the Stone County line. And every morning a crow bounces from tree to tree following me and singing his crow song. CAW CAW CAW!
I named him Carl, and every morning I talk with Carl while he follows me on my walk. Sometimes I talk human talk to him. “Hey Carl, how are you today?” Sometimes I talk crow with him. “CARL CARL CARL!”
I walked with my cousin Kathy this morning. She hadn’t seen Carl for a while, so I brought her close to my house. Sure enough, Carl came flying overhead, the windy morning pushing him around a bit. Eventually he swooped down to a nearby tree and greeted us both.
I’ve asked Carl why he’s always by himself. “Why don’t you hang out with other crows?” Carl ignores my question, content to chew on a twig from the top of the tree where he’s perched. My Mom’s tree is one of his favorite spots, along with our basketball tree at the house I grew up in next door. I wonder if Carl is estranged from his crow family. Or is Carl really a momma crow defending her next? Should I name her Carrie?
For now, I’m sticking with Carl, and imagine he’s a bachelor content in his singlehood, excited every morning to spend a little time with his balding human friend.
It’s the simple things in life sometimes that recharge my batteries.

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