STRATEGIC WELLNESS

Self-Care for the Self-Aware:
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Christine vs the Crows

It was a morning that started like any other. Her Royal Highness Princess Kitty gave the meow for chow, had a nibble, and then sat at the patio door imperiously awaiting its opening. She selected a deck chair to scope out the 'hood while I brewed organic java. This is usually when furface strolls back in, just as I'm savouring my first sip.

But not on this infamous morning.

While I'm making the coffee, a crow lands on my deck railing. I say to myself, "Wow, that's one big crow, it's bigger than my cat!" Kitty's at red alert on the deck chair, eyes popping out of her head. Then a second crow lands beside the first - BUT, it slips on the railing and falls (rather gracelessly) onto my deck. "Caw!" exclaims the startled crow, with much fluttering of wings and alarmed conversation between the two birds.

Kitty is beside herself. She's never seen a close-up of anything larger than a moth.

I'm now at the deck door, laughing at the slapstick and figuring these are probably the same crows that were playing "slide" on my bathroom skylight the other day (literally startling the crap out of me).

Kitty is still on her chair, motionless except for a wildly swishing tail. I don't like the look of that tail. I know that particular swish. That's an attack swish. I do NOT want my domestic house cat taking on two wild crows that seem to be as big as bald eagles. Beaks and claws appear as large as her head.

The "walls" of my deck are a clear plexiglass, and the brainless bird keeps running into it as he tries to escape my deck. Now I know why dimwits are also known as birdbrains. Bash, Caw, Bash, Caw, Bash, Caw. Hello?

More crows are starting to circle overhead, and the friend on the railing is hopping up and down like a yo-yo.

It's simply become too much for Miss Kitty, and she shoots into the house like greased lightening.

The trapped crow becomes even more frantic, and is hurling itself against the panes of plexi. The friend on the railing is leaping in circles and doing a birdy raindance. There are now about 50 huge crows circling and cawing overhead. The noise is deafening. My neighbours are starting to come out on their decks, obviously wondering what in holy toledo is going on. It looks like a scene from a Hitchcock movie.

I'm realizing action is going to have to be taken. By me.

I am not enthralled with this thought. I was attacked by a crow when I was about 17 and had coloured my hair platinum blonde. It was a sunny day, my hair was very shiny, and the crow obviously thought I was a valuable treasure to be whisked back to his nest. It wasn't a pretty scene and gave me nightmares for years.

Now one of the silly things is trapped and hysterical on my deck, and word has quickly spread throughout the avian community about this dramatic turn of events. The sky has gone from blue to black in less than 5 minutes. I'm supposed to go out there? Isn't this like the scene from a horror flick where the heroine walks down the cellar stairs in the dark and we all howl at her stupidity?

But I've donned my extra-large oven mitts, and am determined to rescue the crow. I must be brave - the neighbours are watching.

As I step onto the deck, the circling hordes overhead escalate their frantic cries of distress. The trapped crow is in a frenzy seeking escape. I look down at myself and start snorting with laughter - the brave protagonist clad in a faded old nightshirt, fuzzy slippers and oven mitts. You couldn't make UP stuff like this.

I slowly walk over to the crow, speaking soothingly. What would be soothing to a crow, you might ask? OK, I was speaking soothingly to ME.

One neighbour is shouting encouraging advice from the safety of his covered crow-less deck. "Get your hands underneath it and lift," he bellows. Really? I was going to grab it by the beak and twirl it around a few times.

After a few fumbles, wishing my oven mitts extended up to my armpits and that I had a goalie mask on my face, I take decisive action and firmly grasp the crow under it's heaving belly and hurl it into space - belatedly wondering if it was wounded and could fly. Heart hammering, I watch it soar away into the circling masses overhead.

The neighbourhood burst into thunderous applause and Kitty meows proudly, as I raise my oven mitts over my head like a conquering hero - or at the very least like a UFC champion.

Profound insight from this experience: Absolutely none, but it made me roar with laughter afterwards and certainly woke me up more effectively than dark roast.

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Christine Awram is the Founder of Woman Of Worth WOW Events and the Wellness Professional Network. She's an EDUtainment speaker, writer, consultant and media guest, specializing in Women's Empowerment and Wellness in the Workplace. If you'd like to bring her to your event or take your wellness and vitality to the next level, just send an inquiry to christine@wellpro.net.

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