Crows Hold Grudges — Do You?

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Do you hold grudges? Crows do. They have a keen intelligence on the level of chimpanzees and can identify and remember faces—and remember wrongs. I recently read a feature about crows and the people tormented by them (New York Times).

The American Crow

One of the victims was Gene Carter, from Seattle, who once waved a rake in his backyard at crows encroaching on a robin’s nest. Since then, crows have been screaming at him and even dive-bombing within inches of his head when he went outside his house.

A research team at the University of Washington confirmed that crows can hold grudges. They captured crows in nets while wearing a caveman mask, then released them back onto campus. When the researchers later walked across campus wearing the same mask, the crows scolded and dive-bombed them. The grudge lasted for years, and was even passed down among crow generations.

Crows live in tight family units, mate for life, and have been known to make and use tools, such as using wood to fashion a stick to put in a hole in search of food.

I have an affinity for crows—we have a mutual understanding. There are two crows in particular that visit when I summon them and they offer me reassurances in times of need.

My two crow cronnies

I’m generally not a grudge-holder. Holding grudges can leave you bitter and resentful toward others, and it’s common knowledge that successful relationships require you to forgive and forgive again those who have done you wrong.

But sometimes a grudge is beneficial. Holding a grudge can be a reflection of your values, help you set personal boundaries, and ensure you keep distance between you and people who are negative influences—because like crows, you have to be able to identify and remember the antagonists in your life.

So I’m out for a run the other day and approaching a couple of crows in the street pecking at something. When I get close, they take to the air and one of them turns in my direction. At the same time, another crow perched overhead in a tree flies at the one that turned toward me and chases it away. Leave him alone, my crow friend says. He’s with us.

By David Klein

David Klein

Published novelist, creative writer, journalist, avid reader, discriminating screen watcher.

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