So, a crow flew into my house yesterday. Far be it for me to call myself a wildlife expert, but I didn’t think that these otherwise incredibly intelligent animals would just decide to fly into an
occupied house with people in plain view.

Maybe I should better explain myself. My mom was coming back from grocery shopping, and my brother sees her through the window unloading the trunk. As she walks toward the house, my brother makes his way over to open the door for her. As the door swung open, he discovers that there is a crow sitting on my doorstep. The little black bird tries to bolt through the entrance, but my brother slams the door shut. Unfortunately, the crow gets stuck somewhere in the middle (I don’t know how exactly, I was still in bed at the time), so my brother, Denny, is forced to open the door to let it out. Strangely, as soon as the door is open again, the crow flies straight into the coat closet and perches itself on a pair of sandals.

My mom freaks out. My brother freaks out. The crow is, well, not looking so well, bobbing his (or her, we have no idea) head up and down, having trouble keeping his balance. With all this commotion, I am startled from my slumber and make my way down the stairs. My brother turns to me and says, “You’re the animal person; how do we get this thing out?” I’m the animal person? What is that supposed to mean? Just because I have a pet bunny doesn’t mean that I am a pro at animal control…

Anyways, mom reaches for the broom and hopes to simply sweep the poor bird out of our closet and back outside. The crow latches onto the sandals even tighter and begins to protest. Letting out a series of cries — caw caw caw — he clearly does not like having a broom on his bum. Maybe the closet suits him.

Meanwhile, the rest of his group (I believe they’re called a murder of crows… go figure) aren’t particularly pleased that one of their own has been “trapped” in a wood and stucco enclosure.

Denny, my mom and I decide that perhaps we can throw a bucket on the crow to better control where he goes. I run downstairs to the garage and find a large plastic bucket — oh, about 5 gallons or so — and return to a crow that has since stopped bobbing his head and just looks
a little confused.

I toss the bucket upside down on the bird; no cawing are heard. Maybe he’s still dazed, who knows. We slowly slide the upside down bucket with crow in tow toward the door, the entrance is opened, and with a little bit of encouragement (something like that), the black bird flies
off and that was the end of that.

Yup, just another Sunday. Nothing special.

And yes, this was an absolutely true story.