Either there’s a plague of spattered crows at large, or my mucky visitor’s cleaned up his act significantly, since this morning:
Is this the same crow, after some intensive preening, or a completely different crow? Though crows can tell one human from the next, all crows look the same, to me. If it’s the same one, ha-ha, it missed a spot. (Though, how it would clean its own beak is beyond me! It can’t exactly use a sponge.)
In other news, the crotchety old man’s been at it again — the one from the other day, that is, who doesn’t like geese on the lawn. This afternoon, I was photographing a lovely northern flicker, and didn’t he burst out of NOWHERE, and shoo it away? I didn’t get a single worthwhile shot. What a prat. I don’t like him one bit. Since I don’t know his name, I’ll refer to him from this day forth as Ilya Nikolayich Dolgonosov. I’ve picked this name because a) he likes to stick his nose where it’s not wanted, and b) I don’t think he’d like it.
A northern flicker, stuck to the wall
