"Gregarious, family grouped, long-lived, diurnal, vocally and visually astute, and reliant on memory and individual recognition." Yes, that might be a biological description of us humans, but it's a description from _In the Company of Crows and Ravens_ (Yale University Press) by John M. Marzluff and Tony Angell. We share those traits with the birds that are the subject of this fine book, mostly because we, like they, have big brains and use them. Dolphins and humans have bigger brain-to-body ratios, but the crow and raven ratio is something like that of most primates: "Mentally, crows and ravens are more like flying monkeys than they are like other birds." As a result, we have had a richer history of cooperating with these corvids (the family also includes rooks, jackdaws, and magpies) and competing against them. As a measure of our attention to these birds, for instance, this wide-ranging book cites their influence on our language; cats and dogs have more words, but no wild animal has more than crows and ravens. The examples include scarecrow, crow's feet, crowbar, and ravenous. We also crow about good news, but we also from time to time have to eat crow. We say "as the crow flies" when we want to indicate a linear distance between geographical points, but that's out of ignorance: crows take breaks and (as befits birds with brains) get distracted to check out other routes along the way. Crows and ravens have been our partners throughout history, and this broad and brightly-written book will increase anyone's appreciation for them and for the partnership.
Crows and ravens are scavengers on what humans throw out; so are pigeons and seagulls, for that matter, but those aren't as intelligent or observant as corvids. They could have managed in the wild without humans, but they have been able to thrive in our towns and cities. People who admire crows and ravens generally do so because they have a reputation for being clever, or even sagacious. There are many examples given here of intelligent behavior. Crows have a good communication system, and the authors encourage you to try playing mind games with them by broadcasting commercially-available recordings of crow calls. Crows who hear a distress call, for instance, do not immediately fly away from the call; instead, they fly to it to investigate what is going on, and perhaps learn about the danger. After that, they may stay away for weeks. As befits animals with intelligence, crows play; they may play catch with paper or sticks for no reason except that it seems to be an enjoyable way to spend time. They deliberately climb snowy hills to sled down again on their bellies, and they do this repeatedly. They do rolls, dives, and loops when flying. Crows even use us to do their bidding. In Sendai, northern Japan, carrion crows don't just use gravity to crack the walnuts of which they are fond. They have learned to fly down in front of cars waiting for a stoplight to change, place the nut in front of a wheel, and then fly away to await the result of the human-driven nutcracker. The crows are changing human behavior; drivers in the area intentionally drive over nuts in the road just to help the crows out.
This book makes clear the surprising case that crows have a culture, one that we modify a great deal, while they have made their own modifications on ours by behavior that gets them included in our stories and legends (and, of course, making nut-crackers of us). It invites readers to make their own observations and send them to the authors; corvids are so ubiquitous that almost anyone can take them up on the offer. Marzluff is a professor in wildlife science, and Angell is a freelance artist and writer whose handsome drawings make this a particularly good-looking volume. They even hint that interaction with us is making crows smarter: "We suggest they are becoming smarter because learning, memory, and cultural evolution are so strongly favored by an increasingly complex urban lifestyle." Take up this book and help keep up our side of the race.