A crow swooped down and grabbed a bone my dog had left on the front yard. Away the crow flew, weighed down by its hand-me-down, bare-boned kill. No meat. Nada. Nothing to chew on. Perhaps the crow wanted to dress up its nest with a piece of modern art, though nests aren’t known to be spacious in design. They are more like a studio apartment with a half a fridge and a Murphy bed.
Maybe the crow lives in a duplex nest in an upscale teak wood tree. In that case, the crow would have plenty of room and could use the bone as a paperweight. Crows are often overwhelmed by paperwork, as they are known scavengers by trade — garbage divers, carcass eaters, a connoisseur of roadkill, always looking for that highly sought after leftover du jour.
Contrary to the intellect of other lowbrow birds, the crow is smart enough to hire an accountant. Yes, crows are the most intelligent birds, able to solve simple math equations like 1 + 1 = 3. You do the math. Since an accountant can be pricey, the crow would have to charge it on his Red Carnage Card, based on roadkill fill per month. Dipping into that account would be a lot like dumpster diving on Saint Kitts amid discarded lobster shells and empty bottles of CRISTAL BRUT 1990, the champagne of crows.
Crows need vacations as people do. I say that our bird should splurge. Pay the accountant and go dumpster diving on Tahiti or Bali, or Martinique but pack sensibly, leave the bone at home, as only one carry on is allowed per bird.