They are lined up watching and waiting. As the crumbs are flying from my hand, before they have settled on the grass, they are in the air, black wings whirring. Occasionally grey wings beat them to it, but not usually. I have nicknamed them The Beakstuffers as I have never known crows that are so talented at scouring the lawn and cramming their beaks until not one crumb is left for any other feathered creature, not even the robin agitatedly bobbing along the back of the garden bench, waiting his turn.
This morning, a lone magpie zoomed in, snatched and morsel and fled before Crow Patrol could buzz him. At the same time, a fat, sleek wood pigeon, immune to the crows' taunts, plodded about, picking up what it could. That pigeon is the real winner because when my partner flaps his arms to scare the Beakstuffers away, the pigeon is the only one who takes no notice and simply carries on pecking and ambling.
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