Bye Bye Bebe

 When you think that you are making a "pet" of a natural creature, you aren't. Sadly the wild hare that hopped about the garden for a few years even surviving our milder winters, was run over by a car this week and lies in the gutter gradually becoming recycled. The little crow young, I named Bebe who came every day for its tiny cube of bread comes no more either. Bebe's mother is busy laying more eggs or she's on the beach below enjoying the tourist offerings. The crows at the beach work the walk ways and sandy spots near the tide line. There's always a scrap of something left over from a snack or a picnic and the crow and gull cleaners, are sure to find it. But like racoons who are also "garbage mavens", they aren't always appreciated. Oh well, they have their revenges if you've ever been serenaded in the early morning by baby crows cawing for their feedings or the ravages of your spilled garbage. Bebe learned from his wise mother, a regular silent caller at my bird bath, that you won't find a treat, if you make loud caws. Their attempts to train me, don't work.  Bebe was one of the most charming little black birds to come around. He was wisely suspicious of flying down to a deck railing and  hopping into the bird bath to retrieve a treat. He had his own method. First he'd do a flyby just to make sure there was something there. Next, he'd go to the roof top opposite to sit and wait, hoping I would disappear inside. I didn't because my basket swing and cup of morning coffee was just too attractive. But Bebe who was likely one of his mother's last brood of the summer, used his waiting time to put on a little act. Bebe, smaller than most crows, had patches of white here and there. He wasn't a pretty bird, one of the larger, glossier blue black kinds, but he was cuter. And he knew it. When his mother gave up coming with him, since she'd done her job of teaching where to find  breakfast, she left him on his own. Time for him to fend. Bebe came and would begin his act by dipping into the stale water of the eave trough on the next building and pretending to go on a search through the plastic shingles on the roof looking for treats. He'd take a little run and then cock his head in an enquiring way looking first my way and then diligently pecking at the shingle. There was nothing there to dip for, so he'd be off on another comical run, across the roof.  Nope. Nothing there either. This little dance was interrupted frequently by glances my way, to see if hopefully, I had gone inside. When he tired of this game, he'd go to the metal venting and continue pecking there. The sound of the ding ding as he made his music startled him a bit, or so I thought, and he'd jump back with a flutter. After a bit, I was onto his act. When none of that worked to send me inside, he flew to the tree to sit on a branch that  almost touched my deck rail. It's where I used to put the bread bit  and he never forgot the exact spot. He'd  fly down and peck at the very place the bread once was placed, and then quickly fly back to his branch. This little performance went  on a few times and then, feeling braver, he'd fly to the rail above the bird bath and sit there for a bit. Walking up and down, back and forth. Bebe was trying to teach me what he wanted. But I persevered and kept my chair. Bebe would hop into the bird bath and then immediately fly back to the rail or off to his branch. "When is she going to get it", I could almost hear him say. Unlike other crows I have befriended, Bebe did not take risks. Much too clever. He had more patience than me, however, and when at last, I really had to go inside, he'd fly  down, into the bird bath and snatch the treat. But, alas, Bebe comes no more. He is charmed away by other crows or the attraction of tossed bits of food on the beach only a flit away. I miss him; there'll be others,  but I am very happy to see him gone. Long live you, Bebe.