Los Alamos is a town teeming with sassy, fat ravens and crows, who spend much of their time hanging out at MacDonald’s. Despite their obesity, they are experts at squeezing their way into trash cans, digging about and tossing the contents all over area parking lots. I can always count on those beady-eyed, bad-boy gangs to give me a good laugh when I really need it.
After a decent snow the other day, I braved the bitter cold to slog around town, negotiating the icy sidewalks. Two fat ravens circled a pitched roof, each proudly carrying several french fries, which were tightly clenched in their shiny black beaks. I stopped and watched them circle and then swoop down to the roof’s peak, eagerly anticipating a good place to enjoy their meals.
Their landings were flawless, expertly managed, as they touched down on the slanted roof. But much to their surprise, and my enjoyment, the roof was iced over. Both fat, round feathered bodies began to slide and careen down the roof, much as if they were skiing.
At first they refused to drop their precious cargo, franticly flapping their wings in an effort to maintain balance. But gravity won out, and their booty went flying as astonished shrieks of dismay filled the air.
At the last second their claws managed to grab the edge of the roof, just before a perilous, uncontrolled spiral into the snow. Bitterly disappointed, they huddled together, hurtling loud raven profanities as they mourned the loss of their precious booty. I stood below laughing loudly. Their beady eyes glared down at me bitterly.
It was starting out to be a good day!
