Counting Crows

Cora looked out her window.  She saw a crow in the garden.  Another crow on the old maple tree. A third crow standing smack in the middle of the driveway.   "What is this, a crow convention?" she muttered, tapping on the glass.  She poured a cup of coffee and returned to the window. The crows were still there.  Cora saw another land on a lower branch in the maple.

Two in the tree, one in the driveway and one in the garden. This is going to be a problem.  What if more come?  There could be thirty crows in the driveway by the time I finish this cup of coffee.  What if they don't move when I try to leave?  Should I plow them down?  Then I'll probably have to dispose of the carcasses.  Probably have to pick dead crow out of the car grill with a screwdriver which last time I looked I couldn't find.  If I injure a few, I'll have to find cardboard boxes and drive them over to the animal care center.  Can't leave them out there writhing in pain waiting to die. What am I going to say to the animal care volunteers when I drop them off?  "I ran these crows over with my car because they wouldn't leave my driveway?" There's no way I'm picking up injured crows with those vicious sharp beaks.  How could I drive anyway with them distracting me with their crazy cawing?  I should probably call and cancel my meeting with that so called social worker. These crows look like they're settling in for the day.  At this rate, there'll be 60 mixing and mingling like it's happy hour by lunch time. Who could blame someone for getting rid of them with a vehicle or a hatchet or even a pistol if they owned one? I've read that crows are clever birds.  I see these four signaling to each other with their blinks and wing gestures.  I'll have to wait them out.  The social worker will understand.  She's used to me cancelling appointments.