From his position on the tip of the dead, barren branch rising from the top of an oak tree, the crow bobbed as it spit out it's raspy call. It was a though the bird was trying to throw it's annoying caw as far as possible.
And if that was the crow's intent it was succeeding admirably. It's caws and screeches were drowning out the sounds of all the other birds and crickets for hundreds of feet around.
It occurred to me that crows are like the obnoxious drunks who show up uninvited at parties. The ones who get into everybody's face, spouting absurdities, drowning out all other conversation and tempting the other party goers to toss the drunk back out the door.
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