Crowing

After his prostate surgery, my dad and I were sitting in the kitchen, kind of talking to each other, but not really.  I overheard him thinking out loud.  He said to no one in particular:

"I should shoot a crow.  But what if I gut-shoot him and he has pain like I had? Go in peace brother, we've fought too long. Eat grasshoppers. Crap on my lawn. Wake me up early in the morning."

This man and crows have a stormy relationship let me tell you.  He once interrupted a story I was telling (while standing in the doorway after driving five hours to visit him) to grab a gun and shoot a crow out of the front door -- that sits in city limits.

One time he was visiting me in my high-rise downtown Minneapolis apartment the year we had a HUGE crow infestation (seriously, The Birds-esque).  He saw them off my balcony and went running down the hallway to 'go get his gun' and I had to explain that kind of thing was not acceptable illegal.  You can't just go shooting guns off balconies, even if the crows had it coming.



Come to think of it, when I was a kid, he always told me that I was "pooped by a crow, and hatched by the sun".  In other words, I think he may have killed my real parents.