monkey day for crows

This morning I was walking my old blind dog Fig around the block. When we go in the morning the crows are out cawing for breakfast or yapping about the weather. This morning I stopped to watch two crows on a wire, they were sharpening their beaks and hanging out just the two of them (they mate for life ya know). One hopped over to the other and bowed its head. The second turned toward the first and began raking its beak through the back of the first ones neck. I've not seen this before. When it stopped, the "raker" stepped to the right a few paces. The other one raised its head and stepped over and bowed again. This went on four times before the one scratching the head of the other started to ignore the submissive begging.   I love the crows.   They're rare to see in NY and I have such an affinity for them here in Portland.  A family has been hanging out here for years being fed by my next door neighbor two times a day. She's 89 or something like that and her husband is already gone.  I'll take over crow duty when she's no longer here.

Years ago I had a girlfriend that was a zit picker. She picked her pimples and primped in the mirror and when she couldn't get something, say on her back, she would ask me to help out. She called it monkey day. It was gross and endearing.   The crows reminded me of this long ago ritual.  I'm enamored by the way they change with the season. Right now the crows are at their shiny best. Jet-black feathers newly gleaming for the winter.