Human Beings 101

By Harvey Ardman

Tobias Crowe was one of the last survivors of the original flock, the dozen or so corvids who had come from Maine and settled in the Springfield Nesting Grounds.

For nearly twenty years he had been responsible for fledgling education.

Now he was about to retire. This was the first day of his last year.

His feathers were almost entirely gray. His left wing ached in damp weather. Long flights left him tired for the rest of the day. His arthritis was making it painful to perch. He had no illusions about what that meant.

The flock would continue.

It always did.

But it would have to continue without him.

On the first morning of the school year, Tobias perched on the Learning Tree and studied the ten young fledglings lined up before him.

Some still carried patches of nesting down. A few shifted nervously from foot to foot. One was whispering to his neighbor. Another was staring into the distance and clearly paying attention to nothing at all.

Tobias smiled.

Some things never changed.

“Good morning, boys and girls.”

The chatter stopped immediately.

“Welcome to Springfield Corvid Elementary School. During the coming weeks I intend to teach you everything you need to know about being a good crow. Efficient flight. Opportune food acquisition. Rewarding exploration. Essential community responsibilities. Relations with other species and the outside world.”

Several fledglings groaned.

“Unfortunately,” Tobias continued, “there will be no examinations.”

The groans instantly became cheers.

“However, life itself will give you plenty of opportunities to embarrass yourselves.”

The cheers faded considerably.

“Today we begin with a field trip.”

That earned renewed enthusiastic squawking.

“A young human family is moving into the old Harkness House. They will be our neighbors. Since human beings are one of the most important species on Earth, so far as crows are concerned, I think it appropriate that your first lesson be Human Beings 101.”

He launched himself from the branch and the fledglings followed.

A few minutes later they settled into a maple tree overlooking the Harkness property.

Below them, a man was carrying boxes into the house. A woman was unloading paper bags from a car. Two children chased each other through the yard. A small brown dog ran in frantic circles around everyone.

Tobias allowed the scene to unfold for several minutes. “All right,” he said. “Tell me what you see.”

Nancy raised a wing. “A giant nest.”

“Correct.”

Dexter immediately added, “A ridiculously giant nest.”

“Also correct.”

The class laughed.

“Why is it so big?” Tobias asked.

Arthur raised a wing. “Because people are bigger than we are.”

“Good.”

Then Pauline shared an insight. “They have more stuff.”

“Excellent.”

Lester frowned, then his curiosity got the best of him.” What kind of stuff?”

Tobias looked at the house. “Mostly things they don’t need.”

The fledglings laughed again.

“But some things they do need,” Tobias added. “Food. Clothing. Tools. Memories.”

Several young heads tilted.

“How do you store a memory?” Betty asked.

Tobias considered. “I’m not entirely sure. But humans seem to spend a lot of effort doing it.”

The fledglings studied the house with renewed interest.

Peter pointed toward the yard. “The human fledglings are playing.”

“Good.” Said Tobias. “But can you be more specific?”

Peter focused on the running children. “They’re playing tag,” he said. “Just like we do.”

“Very good.”

Lester spoke up. “They’re not playing tag,” he said. “They’re playing hide-and-seek.”

“Just like we do,” Peter repeated, winning the exchange.

Pauline gazed at the yard, concerned. “The little one has tripped,” she observed.

“She’s hurt herself,” Peter said.

“She’s crying,” Lester said.

“Look at the door,” Pauline suggested. “Here comes the mother.”

The fledglings watched with great interest as the human mother quietly and lovingly tended to her child and comforted her.

“My mother acted exactly the same way when I bumped my beak on a branch,” Lester said, in some surprise.

“They often act as we would,” Tobias pointed out. “Of course they don’t realize that.”

“I didn’t realize that—until now,” Peter admitted.

“They don’t teach their fledgling how to fly,” Dexter countered. 

“I think they do something rather comparable,” Tobias said. “When their fledglings are old enough to be independent, they teach them how to operate those machines—they show them how to drive.”

Dexter opened his beak, as if to argue with his teacher. Then he thought better of it and closed his beak.

“That’s very interesting,” Peter said. “So they’re like us in that way too.”

Tobias offered him a beakly smile. “Good observation, Peter.”

Dexter opened his beak again, then decided that for once in his life, to resist the urge to argue. Tobias noted this with some satisfaction.

“They act like us,” Lester said, “but they sure don’t look like us.”

The fledglings nodded in agreement. “No feathers,” Pauline said.

Dexter decided to change the subject. “Look at the dog,” he said. “He’s chasing butterflies.”

“You’re right, Dexter,” Tobias said. “Thank  you for pointing that out.”

“What’s a dog?” asked Franklin.

“A pet.”

“What is a pet?”

Tobias sighed. “That’s a difficult question.” He thought for a moment. “A pet is a friend who lives with a human.”

The fledglings seemed pleased by this answer. “Why don’t they keep crows as pets?” one asked.

“They’ve tried.”

“What happened?”

“We refused.” 

The class erupted in laughter.

For the next hour, while Tobias exercised a painful wing, they observed the family.

They discussed clothing.

Vehicles.

Groceries.

Neighborhoods.

Schools.

Bicycles.

Dogs.

Questions came faster than Tobias could answer them.

Why did humans cut grass?

Where did they live before they came here?

Why did they build roads?

Why did they change their feathers—clothes—every day?

Why did they make so many strange noises?

Tobias answered what he could. He realized no crow understood everything about human beings, no matter how long or carefully he observed them. He also realized that human beings didn’t understand everything about crows either, not even close.

Eventually Betty asked the question Tobias had been expecting. “Are humans dangerous?”

The tree became quiet.

Tobias looked toward the family below.

The father had picked up one of the children and was spinning her in circles.

The child’s laughter drifted upward.

“Sometimes,” Tobias said.

“Do they hurt crows?”

“Some do.”

“Why?”

“We don’t know.”

The fledglings shifted uneasily.

“But most don’t.”

“How can you spot the dangerous ones?”

Tobias smiled. “That takes practice.”

The children below began chasing the dog.

The dog began chasing the children.

Nobody appeared to know who was pursuing whom.

“They seem silly,” Dexter observed.

“They are silly.”

“They seem confused.”

“They often are.”

“They seem to spend a lot of time playing.”

“They do.”

The fledglings watched for a while. The children laughed.

Finally Nancy said, “They even sound a little like us.”

Tobias looked at her. “Yes.”

The class grew thoughtful.

“They have families,” Betty said.

“Yes.” Tobias took a closer look at her. She looked a lot like her grandmother, Rebecca, whom he had taught many years ago.

“They live in groups.”

“Yes. They call them neighborhoods.”

“They have schools.”

“Yes.”

“They have leaders.”

“Yes.”

“They argue.”

“Constantly.”

“They make friends.”

“Certainly.”

“They help each other.”

“Often.”

The fledglings fell silent.

Below them, the family continued moving into their new home.

At last Peter spoke. He had an observation.” It sounds like they’re imitating us.”

The class laughed.

Tobias chuckled too. “Or perhaps we’re imitating them.”

“Which is it?” Peter asked.

Tobias looked out across Springfield. The houses. The roads. The trees. The birds. The people. All sharing the same place. “I suspect,” he said, “that it’s simply the way life works.”

The fledglings considered that.

Then Betty raised a final wing. She hesitated, considering whether or not to ask the question. Finally it came out. “Do humans know how closely we watch them?”

Tobias smiled. “Not generally.”

“Do they know how much we understand?”

“Not generally.”

“Do they know we’re talking about them right now?”

“Definitely not.”

The class seemed amused by this.

Tobias looked once more at the young family below.

Then he turned back to his students.

“The truth is that human beings and crows have been neighbors for a very long time.”

“How long?”

“Longer than anyone remembers.”

“We need them,” Tobias said. “And I like to think they need us too.”

The fledglings waited.

It sounded important.

“Why?”

Tobias looked at them. Because it was his final year. Because one day these young birds would inherit the flock. Because someday he would be gone. And because this was perhaps the most important lesson he had ever taught. “Because,” he said quietly, “a world shared is usually better than a world occupied alone.”

For a moment none of the fledglings spoke.

Then Dexter raised a wing. “Does that mean class is over?”

Tobias laughed. As usual, Dexter was being impatient. “Yes, Dexter. Class is over.”

The fledglings exploded from the tree in every direction, arguing loudly about dogs, bicycles, giant nests, and whether human beings were smart enough to understand crows.

Tobias remained behind.

For several minutes he sat alone on the branch, considering this new generation. Three decades ago, he had taught their grandparents. These fledglings were a lot like them but also different. 

Below him, the family carried another load of boxes into their new home. The little dog barked at absolutely nothing. One of the children waved at a passing crow. Tobias watched them for a while. Then he spread his aging wings and headed back toward the nesting grounds. There were still many lessons left to teach. But Human Beings 101 had started rather well this year. May it always be so.