I walk my little old dog, Rufio, early every day. I think of it as the “crow walk” because, while Rufio takes his stroll around the block, I feed the murder of crows. Sometimes, as many as 40 birds join in. Today was one of those lively mornings. I initially put on a little show for my grandsons but quickly noticed that another walker had dropped peanuts farther down the street. This early snack had already drawn quite a few birds, and even more arrived as Rufio and I began our walk.
My process is simple: every five or six steps, I toss a shelled, unsalted peanut—or sometimes two. The crows leapfrog over one another to grab the treat, flying a short distance away to enjoy it. I also plant peanuts in different spots, hiding them under leaf litter or tucking them between rocks. No matter where I place them, the crows always find them.
About halfway through the walk, I noticed a white blur streaking toward us. A seagull swooped down, attempting to snatch a peanut from a crow. It missed, but soon another seagull dived in, and then another. Chaos erupted as the crows mounted a counterattack. Each seagull was chased off by five or six crows, while others squawked warnings to the group. It felt as though the entire murder had joined the fray.
Rufio and I were riveted. At one point, I heard a loud squawk nearby and laughed as I noticed three crows forming a perimeter around me, facing outward like little bodyguards. It seemed as though they were trying to protect us.
When the seagulls finally gave up, the crows regrouped and gathered around, clearly expecting a reward. I obliged, tossing plenty of peanuts to the assembled murder. Satisfied, we began the walk home, the crows following us in a rolling wave of enthusiasm. Once we reached my door, I threw them a few more peanuts. It felt as though they had escorted Rufio and me all the way home.
Peanuts In My Pocket 
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