WRITTEN BY: Kim Doner | PHOTO BY: Kim Doner
“I want a pet crow!” “Uhhhhh, no. No, you don’t.” “Why not?”
I’ve been a state/federally licensed rehabilitator for 20 years, the “federal” part being required for rehabilitating native birds under the International Migratory Bird Treaty Act. Criteria for qualifying requires several demands you’ll discover if you ever apply.
But you want a “pet” crow! And not to release him like rehabbers do. Instead, you picture something from a fantasy where your bird flies from the mountaintop, lands on your shoulder, speaks a few words or spells and does cool stuff; you’re bonded with this mystical creature. You are the wizard; he is your familiar.
Hmmmm.
Just how much do you want this?
Well, you could legally purchase an “exotic” non-native corvid (the general family term for crows, ravens, jays, magpies and more). If you buy a pied crow or a white-necked raven from a legitimate breeder, you’re covered. In fact, you might want to get two as they are social birds who need a lot of time and attention (keep reading). You’re doing a singleton a disservice if you intend to indulge yourself in having a job, taking a vacation or attending college. But I’m assuming those are not obstacles to you because you just spent somewhere between $4,000 and $12,000 to purchase said birds. Clearly, time and money are not a problem.
Oh, whoops! Did that option just get crossed off your list?
Now, you’re thinking perhaps you should simply be on the lookout to kidnap a crow kid next spring?
Let’s put aside that such action is illegal and amoral for educational purposes here.
Let’s just say your doorbell rings one day, and there sits a baby crow. You know it’s a baby; stubby feathers are a deep charcoal, not jet black; eyes are blue, and when you lean down for a better look, an open beak reveals a brilliant ruby mouth. The sound coming from those ruby depths reminds one of creaking hinges. He is hungry.
You’re in love. Your new role: parenting a winged child. And like every first-time parent, you want to become an overnight expert who never errs in raising Baby.
This youngster is still a nestling. He’s awkward, bumbling and has enormous feet ending in long, curved nails. They are sharp. Keep this in mind.
He is darling. He begs at meals, acts as if you’re a god and makes the most delightful gobble sounds when you poke food in his mouth. Luckily, such charm works well as he needs to be fed every 45 minutes for 14-hour days.
Weeks unfold. Those needs change; eventually, he starts to pick up bits of food you drop before him. Or not. He may figure out you’re his minion, and although he can feed himself, it’s far more fun to have you twisting in the wind all day. But you finally get firm, and despite his efforts to lure you back into servitude, he will self-feed. He is perching, stretching his wings and starting to forage.
Hooray! He’s growing up! Uh oh! He’s growing up! Additional challenges arise.
He needs more than a cage for containment; he needs an aviary—a big aviary. Let’s say, a minimum of 8 by 8 by 15 feet, covered, furnished with perches, toys, daily fresh water and a birdbath. Your aviary needs to provide proper protection for him since raccoons, snakes, mice and feral cats would consider him dinner and dig, reach or squeeze in.
You might think, “Oh, he’d just live indoors with me,” but crows don’t sit on a perch all day and heckle visitors like a parrot might do; they do not do well inside a home. Their first instinct is to be as high as possible when enclosed, so if you allowed him the run of the house as he learns to fly, he would be on top of curtain rods, cabinets, doors and the light fixtures.
Food for thought: he can’t be housebroken.
(By the way: crow poop is quite smelly. But, of course, you know that! You read everything
about pet crows and, as a responsible pet owner, have been catching crickets, chasing down uncleaned fish and skinning mice for him, right?)
And he’s bigger now. Those feet perform a death grip on your shoulder. Needle-pointed nails rip tiny holes in any knitwear you own. He’s learned to use that beak; he likes to clamp onto small, interesting objects and hammer the snot out of them before stashing them. If he’s living indoors, he will not enjoy his cage anymore. He will want to be everywhere you are, so be prepared. It’s only fair; he has no friends but you. No family but you. No life but you.
How do you entertain and educate him?
Oh, wait. You’ve read Karen Pryor’s book on training from cover to cover and now own your own clicker; you’re investing more than a few hours daily, using treats and featherstroking to shape his behavior. It kinda works. Sometimes. But he is maturing. Thus, on the horizon: avian adolescence, which parallels human adolescence. Think hormones.
If you’ve done right by your teenager, he’s received a highly nutritional diet, lots of stimulus from toys and tools, several hours of your company daily, outdoor time and training classes. You want him to develop socially, so you invite friends over to meet him.
He freaks out.
A CAWWWWW erupts as he flies across the room, lands on the head of your tall blonde friend, implants talons in her hair and slams his beak deep into her scalp. You pry him off, astonished.
You’re his mate.
He is jealous and protective. He is dominant. She is bleeding.
Maybe you should’ve started “socialization” with another animal instead of humans?
We’ll back up.
You want him to develop socially, so you allow your cat to stroll into the room with him. He flies to the floor and follows her. She snubs him by walking away, tail in the air, but he’s fascinated. He has found a target much
like the dot at the base of an exclamation mark. He’s accomplished at using his beak and does so.
POKE. SCREECH! Kitty is not happy.
OK, so that didn’t work so well either. What about an inanimate object?
You want him to develop socially, so you offer stuffed toys. He lands on them and … oh, well, they didn’t need those button eyes to look cute. Or all that stuffing or that rubber nose either. …
Congratulations! You are the owner of a feral, feathered 3-year-old without a conscience.
Your social life is in tatters, your computer’s keyboard is missing three plastic covers (you’ll never see Option, Caps Lock or F7 again), your pencils are splintered into wood chips all over the floor, there is a mouse corpse missing somewhere in the utility room, and your favorite shirt sports a long, odorous white stain going down the back from where you were poop-bombed.
And that’s on a good day!
But never fear. You adore that little guy, and you’re determined to care for him until … until it’s time for “The Rainbow Bridge” because you’re a dedicated, loving, responsible pet owner with a crow.
Which might bring you to a final question: how long might that be realistically? How long do crows live?
A healthy life for most crows in captivity is 20 years. However …
A 2006 AP report cited the death of Tata, who’d been an injured, unreleasable fledgling crow kept by the Manetta family until health problems sent him to a wildlife rehabilitator named Kristine Flores.
Tata was 59 years old.
My recommendation? Restructure that dream.
Imagine yourself as a pirate. With a parrot on your shoulder.
