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For a day or so my crow acted docile and indifferent to everything around him. But when some small neighbor children came to see him I heard him making soft warbles in response to their highpitched voices. I tried talking to him in a falsetto voice. The instant result was dramatic. He followed me around with begging cries that changed to excited gobbling noises each time I stuffed a piece of canned dog food down his red gullet. He sat on my shoulder, preened my hair and eyebrows. I had become his mother:
I named my crow "Cicero" after the great Roman orator. He lived in what had been our coal cellar. Every morning I would let Cicero out through the cellar window. He flew around the neighborhood in complete freedom all day. In the evening he would return to the same window to be let in. If we were late, he would bang the side of a nearby bucket
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