With all the crows in my garden, eating my cucumber shoots and picking on the littler 
birds, I once asked my mother about getting a slingshot (horrible, I know!) and making 
a little crow "chicken pie." She said, "They call it 'eating crow' for a reason, you 
know." I guess crow meat would not be too sanitary.

By the way, my fellow list members have reassured me about the crows' intentions in 
Loring Park. I no longer feel like Tippi Hedren. Judging by the sloppy "valentines" 
our crow friends are leaving all over the pavement beneath them, I should feel more 
like Mel Brooks in "High Anxiety" in which he, after seeing our feathered friends 
congregating, feels on his shoulder a warm, welcoming blob of...well, rent the film.
Kristine Harley
Sheridan
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