Tuesday, June 10, 2014


"A old friend"

I’ve always loved crows and rescued one as a child. It had an injured wing which healed over a week, then was released back to the yard behind Bonavesta house where I lived.
I never knew my father that well growing up. I was raised by my grand-mother till I was 16 years old, lived with my bio mother for 2 horrible years, then ventured out into life by myself.
I was talking to an old family friend who related to me a story of my father and the crows he used to tend as a child. My father, Bob Wells, was a great animal lover, who brought home every stray he found as a young child. At age 9 years,he started feeding the local crows hanging around the train tracks on Water Street, Yarmouth, staying to watch them feed. After many times, he started to talk to them, calling ‘crow, crow, and crow’. They would stop to look his way, noticing him there not far from the crumbs. Eventually, Bob tried sitting not far with crumbs beside him. At first the crows ignored him. He would wait patiently, then leave after a wait, taking those crumbs with him. The crows noticed this, of course. Greed got the best of some and they would sneak close enough to grab a few then fly off. My father smiled knowingly… Several weeks went by, when one day a crow got right next to Bob. He never moved, but spoke softly to the black beauty. After several days, he held out his hand with crumbs and waited again… one crow got very brave and ate out of his hand one day. This became a daily ritual till one day the crow Ate the crumbs then Dad tipped his finger and patted the smooth black feathers on his neck. He flew off but returned the next day for his hand feeding. with a quick pat. Then finally one morning, young Bob waited for the crow to arrive. When he was done his crumbs Bob quickly reached down and grabbed the crow’s leg! A great confusion of crow screams, flapping feathers and laughing arouse. The local Water street workers came from their salty shacks to witness Dad catching his first live crow! He tied a string to his leg and ‘flew’ the crow home to his bewildered mother. She was shocked and cried. It was bad luck to bring a crow into the house to live and not only that,but the crow was mad, hurt and not longer trusted him. I’ll let him go then. He took the crow out into the back of the house on Main Street and cut the string from his leg. Mad, the crow flew to the top of the house to tell him off one last time before disappearing back toward Water Street.

The crows never trusted him that much again but they would still come and wait for the crumbs, from the roof next door, till Bob left. Smiling…

                                                     LINK-Sweeney's Wharf Musuem in Yarmouth,NS