One Writer’s Journey to Save a Raven

An amazing story is unfolding in my yard. If you’re a regular reader of this blog, my love for crows should not surprise you. But I also love ravens, as I might’ve mentioned a time or two. It’s fair to say I’m an equal opportunity corvid lover. So when an injured raven appeared in my yard, just the sight of her dragging wing gut-punched me.

At the time I wasn’t sure if she was male or female, so I named her Rave. Not very creative, I know, but I didn’t want to strap Rave with a male’s name if I didn’t have the correct gender. Unfortunately, by the time I’d realized she was the young raven Odin (her dad) brought here last year, the name had stuck.

I hate to admit this but Poe and family were probably the ones who hurt Rave. Before you get too upset, nesting season was in full swing at the time and Poe had chicks in the nest. Research shows a young raven like Rave might be tempted to raid a crow’s nest for an easy meal. I’m not saying that’s what went down. Since I didn’t witness the attack, I don’t want to fling unfounded allegations at either party. 😉 The simple truth is Poe couldn’t allow any potential threat to invade her territory.

Human mothers would do the same to protect their young, right?

Now, I’ll tell you the story. Several weeks ago I shared the beginning of this story on the Kill Zone (along with a writing lesson), so apologies for repeating myself, but it’s important to show the full picture for those who don’t know about the corvid craziness I’ve been dealing with for six long weeks.

On May 13, Bob and I had just finished lunch when a commotion exploded outside. If only I’d known my day would take such an ominous turn . . .

When we rushed into the yard, we found Rave with her left wing dragging across the grass, and my heartstrings snapped in two. My first reaction was to rescue her. To say that adventure didn’t go well is a huge understatement. Have you ever tried to catch a wild raven? It’s a lot harder than it sounds.

After four hours(!) of trekking through the woods after Rave, I finally admitted defeat. But I had to do something. So, I called New Hampshire Fish & Game. A large part of their job is to help wounded animals, right? Well, not exactly. Much to my dismay, their “rules” don’t apply to corvids.

“Since we’re talking about corvids,” the officer said, “it’s best to let nature take its course. We don’t respond to these types of calls because crows and ravens aren’t endangered. Besides, there’s plenty of them in the state.”

“There’s plenty of people in the state, too, but I’d still try to save a human life.”

Needless to say, the phone call rolled downhill from there. Just the sight of this beautiful raven in pain sent my mind reeling in nine different directions. How can I help? What should I do? If I don’t intervene, the crows will kill her! That last thought boomeranged back to me as I frantically called every bird rehabber in the state. Each agency gave the same advice—“catch the raven, then call me”—which wasn’t even remotely helpful.

As I said, trapping a wild raven is NOT an easy task. For weeks Rave wouldn’t let me within thirty feet of her before bolting in the opposite direction. You might be surprised by how fast a raven can run on land. They also have this unique ability to vanish right before your eyes. I can’t count the number of times Rave did this to me. I should’ve renamed her Blaine after the famed illusionist, David Blaine.

But I digress.

Every time I intervened I unintentionally forced Rave out in the open, thereby threatening her safety. So, I tried a new tactic. My biggest problem became, how could I sneak food to Rave without upsetting Poe? This is also much more difficult than it sounds. Several times per day I waited for the crows to go on patrol in search of interlopers within their domain. In a country setting, a crow’s territory stretches for several acres, which I figured would allow me enough time to make my move.

So, I waited. Watched. Every nerve-ending in my body on high alert.

Once caws trailed into the distance, I bustled up the walkway — my gaze in a constant scan across the sky — heading toward the woods where the raven was hiding out. But the moment I’d hustled halfway across the dirt road, Poe rocketed out of a nearby tree. I tried this all damn day. And every single time she busted me. I’m Poe’s human. Sharing is not an option under the best of circumstances. During nesting season? Forget about it. As far as Poe was concerned, Rave could starve to death.

Frustrated, I flung up my hands and tried to reason with her. “Listen, Poe. The raven’s no longer a threat. Can’t you please — please — leave her alone long enough for the wing to heal?”

That didn’t go over well.

I tried again. “Tell ya what. If you let the raven heal, I’ll reward you with a juicy steak.”

Better, but a little more convincing was in order.

“Hey, how ’bout you two come to an understanding? You leave her alone if she promises not to go after the chicks once she’s airborne.”

Poe cocked her head, as if to say, “You can’t be serious. That’s not how this game is played.”

“Fine! Then you’re just gonna have to get comfortable with me feeding her. I refuse to abide by your stupid rules.” And I stormed off.

As the sunlight diminished and darkness rolled in, I lost track of the raven. There wasn’t any more I could do but pray she survived the night.

First thing Thursday morning, guess who’s waiting for breakfast? I served leftovers from a roasted chicken. The raven grabbed the carcass by the spine and hopped toward the woods. A few feet away she must’ve thought better of it. Stealing the whole carcass could paint an even bigger bullseye on her back. Rave tore the chicken down the middle, stuffed one half in her beak, and left the rest on Poe’s rock.

I didn’t see Rave the rest of the day.

On Friday night a tornado-like storm hit our area, complete with 50 mph winds, downpours, and lightning strikes. If the raven survived, it’d be a miracle.

Eagle-eyed on the woods the next morning, I waited for hours as sunbeams speared across the grass. My beloved crows arrived on time. But no raven. Did Rave perish in the storm? In front of the window I wore a path in the hardwood floors.

Time slogged.

About 10 a.m. I peeked out the window one last time before hitting the keyboard. And there stood Rave, well-rested, hungry, and disappointed to find the rock empty. But the millisecond I stepped on the deck with a fresh plate of food, Poe and the gang emerged from surrounding trees. Each time Rave sneaked over to the rock the crows divebombed her. It’s not in my DNA to sit back and watch any of my black beauties fight to survive. Rave was also outnumbered by seven to one (at all times Poe left at least two adults at the nest to watch over the chicks).

While I weighed my options, the crows scolded the raven from all directions. I have a strict “no fighting” policy in my yard. When anyone breaks this rule, I reinforce my disappointment by withholding food till they smarten up. A wise crow doesn’t anger the human who controls a never-ending supply of tantalizing treats, so the attacks stopped as long as Rave was within the property lines. If she crossed the dirt road to the woods, my rules were no longer in play.

Smart little buggers, aren’t they?

With multiple crow glowers aimed at Rave, thick tension engulfed the yard. During nesting season, “my” crows and ravens do not intermingle, even though they pal around in the off-season.

Fast-forward two weeks and Poe signaled that my beloveds were ready to eat at their summer rock. I’d created two separate feeding areas so Dad (my husband) didn’t have to shovel the lower yard — affectionally named Animal Planet for its greenery, flowers, and throngs of wildlife who visit — and Mumma didn’t have to schlep through thigh-high snow all winter.

The change in feeding area reset the crows’ murderous hatred toward Rave. By feeding Poe and family on Animal Planet and Rave on the winter rock in the upper yard, I’d restored a modicum of peace.

That is, until about a week later when Rave thought Poe’s rock looked tastier than hers. Or perhaps, she remembered switching rocks in the warm weather with her dad, Odin. Hard to say for sure what prompted her to move to the woods on the other side of my yard to be closer to the summer rock when our new arrangement was working so beautifully.

Needless to say, Poe was NOT happy about this.

Once again, I tried to rescue Rave. And once again, she outmaneuvered me. Maybe she’d be okay on her own? This question replayed on an endless loop, followed by the grave reality of a fox, Great Horned Owl, Fischer cat, raccoon, or black bear crossing Rave’s path during the night.

Sleepless nights wore me down.

For two-plus-weeks I wrestled with what to do. Then one day I stopped looking at the situation through my eyes — human eyes — and viewed it from Poe and Rave’s perspective. A funny thing happens in nature if you stop, just stop, and listen to the world around you. Once I did, all the years of researching corvids flooded my mind with ideas.

One of crows’ amazing qualities is patience. They’re also capable of delayed gratification. Meaning, crows will wait for food if the food they’re waiting for is a better reward than the scraps that await them now (Ravens can do this, too, but don’t when they’re injured).

With this theory in mind, I offered Poe a deal. As the alpha, she’s the only crow I needed to convince. The others would fall in line behind their mother, and Edgar always follows his mate’s advice. Brilliant, indeed.

My simple offer was this: Poe, if you let the raven eat, I’ll bring out your favorite treats once Rave is safely out of sight.

Now, I’d love to tell you Poe agreed right away, but the truth is, she wasn’t thrilled with the idea at first. In fact, every time I laid out breakfast, lunch, snack, or dinner, my beloved crows emptied the rock in seconds. Just once I needed Rave to beat Poe to the rock. Then I could show Poe that if she let Rave eat, she’d be rewarded with something better.

It took about three days before Rave worked up enough courage to race Poe to the rock. Afterward, when Rave hopped back into her new wooded digs, I offered Poe raw chicken breast, her favorite kibble, and of course, I replenished the peanut pile.

Success!

Day after day, Poe waited for Rave to eat and I made good on my promise. But then, I noticed Rave would climb up on this other rock at the tree-line to check out the menu before proceeding toward the summer rock. So, then I started using two rocks: one for Poe and family and one for Rave. This worked for several days. Poe wouldn’t go near Rave’s rock (pictured above) and Rave wouldn’t go near Poe’s.

And then, the most amazing thing happened.

Last week, right around the end of nesting season, Poe sent the boys off on patrol with Edgar. Shakespeare, known fondly as “Shaky” (Poe’s mini me and the runt from last year), stayed behind as Poe strutted into the woods in search of Rave. Breath trapped in my lungs as I watched in horror.

A few moments later, “low-talking” indicated Poe and Rave were communicating but they remained hidden behind shrubbery. I couldn’t do anything but wait, watch, and pray. The next thing I know, Poe swaggers out of the woods for a little worm-hunting while Shaky played lookout (since birds are most vulnerable on the ground, crows post a sentinel in the trees). Rave hopped right by Poe and over to the summer rock, where she gorged on chicken thighs, peanuts, sunflower seeds, and kibble. Poe even let Rave eat the dead mouse!

And that’s when I knew—these two majestic birds had struck a deal.

The best part? Now, Rave waits for the crows to tell her if it’s safe to step in the open. In return for their service, Rave only eats half the treats on the rock. Yesterday, she even tore off a piece of chicken and tossed it to Poe, waiting below. Though I may have played a small part in Rave’s recovery process, most of the credit goes to Poe. When that spectacular crow shows her heart, she never ceases to amaze me.

Guess what happened this morning? Poe brought the babies! Once they get comfortable in the yard, Poe should allow me to shoot video. The crowlettes are learning how to land, which is hilarious, adorable, and heartwarming. In the meantime, I need to remain respectful of the magical gift Poe’s sharing with me. And Rave? She’s still healing, sadly, but the new growth in flight feathers indicates she’ll fly again soon. Below is a video of Rave. When she turns you can see the wing, but she’s done a lot of healing since then (late May).