Animal Planet: What’s Your Totem?
Is there any species of animal for which you feel a special sense of connection? For about seventeen years I jogged either most of the year or year-round in small-town New Hampshire, and I got to know crows pretty well...
At least the “Live Free or Die” subspecies. Those NH crows seemed to take the state motto seriously. When I moved to DC, I was surprised to see that the crows there got together in huge flocks to migrate when it started getting cold. In New Hampshire, a "flock" was more like a loose band of freely consenting individuals that seemed to do absolutely nothing in formation and toughed it out year round.
Summer and winter, I was out there very early or in the cold or both. So usually it was just me and the crows in the cemeteries: two right across the street from each other with leafy old trees and plenty of different routes to take along their paths.
The crows clearly didn’t like my presence, especially early on Sunday mornings when it was rare for even a car to pass by. I could hear them talk about me back and forth from a short distance away:
“What’s the idiot doing out here at this hour?”
“Is he supposed to be going somewhere?”
“Doesn’t he know he’s doing this on our time?”
“Maybe he thinks he’s like… one of us?”
Laughter and guffaws would ensue…
As I’d approach, three or four might be in nearby trees with one or two strutting on a path paralleling mine. They’d fly off when I got close, but they'd never be in a hurry and they'd never go far. They wanted to be sure I knew they weren’t afraid of me and just plain found me obnoxious. They’d even say stuff over their shoulders as they flapped away and landed a few trees over:
“Loser…”
“What a joke. Who does he think he is?”
“Maybe he’s reverted to hunter-gathering, LOL!”
Though I couldn't always be sure of their exact words, here's something transcribed verbatim:
It’s early, around 8 AM, but already a warm midsummer’s day. A small band of crows has been doing their usual thing of noisily flapping away at my approach. I’m not paying much attention.
Not until I stride in a reverie into the lazy dappled shade of a tree and there explodes a single crow-yell directly over my head, and I do mean directly – this guy couldn’t have been more than a yard above me. It was a kind of vocal hand grenade. Though I'm normally slow to startle, it was loud enough, held long enough, and delivered at such close range, that in that instant I covered about as much distance straight up as forward.
And then I had to laugh out loud: I had just been outsmarted, outtalked, and told off by a crow. I knew it - the crow had made sure of that - and it was hard to believe the crow didn't know it too!
That brassy, sassy independence, tinged with a kind of jocularity and founded in an unshakeable depth of self confidence – that’s what I like about crows and what I found myself identifying with as I got to know them through my running years.
What’s your totem?
Global Warning
“Migratory birds are traveling thousands of miles only to find the insects they depend on had their breeding cycle a few weeks earlier based on the temperature rise.”
National Wildlife Federation
At least the “Live Free or Die” subspecies. Those NH crows seemed to take the state motto seriously. When I moved to DC, I was surprised to see that the crows there got together in huge flocks to migrate when it started getting cold. In New Hampshire, a "flock" was more like a loose band of freely consenting individuals that seemed to do absolutely nothing in formation and toughed it out year round.
Summer and winter, I was out there very early or in the cold or both. So usually it was just me and the crows in the cemeteries: two right across the street from each other with leafy old trees and plenty of different routes to take along their paths.
The crows clearly didn’t like my presence, especially early on Sunday mornings when it was rare for even a car to pass by. I could hear them talk about me back and forth from a short distance away:
“What’s the idiot doing out here at this hour?”
“Is he supposed to be going somewhere?”
“Doesn’t he know he’s doing this on our time?”
“Maybe he thinks he’s like… one of us?”
Laughter and guffaws would ensue…
As I’d approach, three or four might be in nearby trees with one or two strutting on a path paralleling mine. They’d fly off when I got close, but they'd never be in a hurry and they'd never go far. They wanted to be sure I knew they weren’t afraid of me and just plain found me obnoxious. They’d even say stuff over their shoulders as they flapped away and landed a few trees over:
“Loser…”
“What a joke. Who does he think he is?”
“Maybe he’s reverted to hunter-gathering, LOL!”
Though I couldn't always be sure of their exact words, here's something transcribed verbatim:
It’s early, around 8 AM, but already a warm midsummer’s day. A small band of crows has been doing their usual thing of noisily flapping away at my approach. I’m not paying much attention.
Not until I stride in a reverie into the lazy dappled shade of a tree and there explodes a single crow-yell directly over my head, and I do mean directly – this guy couldn’t have been more than a yard above me. It was a kind of vocal hand grenade. Though I'm normally slow to startle, it was loud enough, held long enough, and delivered at such close range, that in that instant I covered about as much distance straight up as forward.
And then I had to laugh out loud: I had just been outsmarted, outtalked, and told off by a crow. I knew it - the crow had made sure of that - and it was hard to believe the crow didn't know it too!
That brassy, sassy independence, tinged with a kind of jocularity and founded in an unshakeable depth of self confidence – that’s what I like about crows and what I found myself identifying with as I got to know them through my running years.
What’s your totem?
Global Warning
“Migratory birds are traveling thousands of miles only to find the insects they depend on had their breeding cycle a few weeks earlier based on the temperature rise.”
National Wildlife Federation
Posted by Paul at 8:35 PM Permalink
14 Comments:
The only raven I've known was Edgar Allan Poe's...
Dogs are intelligent and very observant. They study their human family members intently and can pick up on the smallest cues as to what is going on with us. They read us like a book.
Dogs are warm and affectionate. They are thrilled to see you even when you go no further than your mailbox and then return.
I have always looked at our family dogs as our friends.
what you call "totems" I call "helpers." And they haven't given me permission to talk about them.
really no different than folks who have a personal relationship with a saint or with angels. they all come from the same place: but some folks think-and-therefore-see animals instead of saints.
there are a lot of ravens living nearby, so I see them a lot. I wonder if crows and ravens don't live in the territories?
Hayden – Oh-oh… “Territories?” OK… So you taught me about “dog parks” a year or so ago…. Are you near some other form of territory that I haven’t learned about yet, lol??
People seem to approach symbolic meaning in a variety of ways. I can understand what you’re saying here and the comparison you make with saints.
you know, like humans killing off the wolves and big cats because they eat our livestock?
I figured you'd "get" what I was saying... thanks for not making it uncomfortable!
You gave me a new appreciation for crows. Truthfully, I don't love them too much. They are pretty darn mean to the birds in my yard and steal eggs from their nests. Sigh...
Hmmm.... Totems... I adore deer. Their innocence, lovely large eyes, and the simple elegance when they walk so tenderly upon the earth...Seeing a fawn brings me to majesty.
PS Note (in the interests of science) that the other end of your food territory observation is that dog parks are typically poop-based, and the more plentiful the poop, the larger the area.
Crystal and Jan - I guess in practical terms a lot depends on where you stand in relation to the animal. As a kid, I remember one of my cousins being infuriated with a blue jay for repeatedly attacking her cat. Of course now I know there was undoubtedly a good reason for it.
Then there are people who live in cities where deer are a driving hazard...
So I'm thinking less in practical than symbolic terms. I remember a question in a board game I used sometimes as a school counselor that read,
"If you were an animal, what animal would you be and why...?"
I think I'd like to be a cougar. Simply not domesticatable (is that a word?) powerful, beautiful and athletic. A cougar in a place where there are no guns, no zoos.
BBC is so good - and unsettling - on the environment. It was several months ago and I forget whether the figure was 5,000 or 3,000 but that's the estimated number of individuals of all species of big cats that remain on the face of the planet.
Could be right, clearly I don't have a clue. And I don't think I'll personally be conducting a census any time soon.
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