My Dad told me a story of when we lived in Canada, not sure what province. I was but 2 years old. We lived at the end of a culdasac and the neighbor, Jim Borroman, used to hunt with Dad for birds on occasion. Well the story goes there was a large tree at the end of the street and was recently taken over by a flock of very vocal crows/black birds. Some time goes by and my Dad and Jim said thats enough and walked toward the tree with their shotguns. The birds flew off as they approached. Another attempt and the birds flew away again. Jim and Dad, being at the end of the street in view of the tree decided to leave their shotguns under the tree and walk off. The vocal birds returned and vocalized their win. Jim and Dad again approached the tree, this time without shotguns, and the birds remained. The ending story was it was raining birds as Jim and Dad worked their 12G pump shotguns into the tree.
Have not read the prior comments, so if this a love fest for black birds, sorry to disappoint.
