Raven

I was looking out of our upstairs windows while watering my little new geraniums lined up on the sills when I saw the raven flying low across our front lawn. I'm used to seeing them high over our trees, but not swooping low over the ground. Our chickens are penned up late spring and summer to protect the gardens. In winter they travel set paths because of snow. But early spring and fall they wander far and wide. Every once in a while one of the hens has to hurry back to wherever they've established one of their nests to lay her egg. When she's finished, she comes out onto the lawn and cackles loud and long. I don't know if it's because she's so proud of the wonder she's once again accomplished. It may be that she's calling to the others in an effort to find them and rejoin the flock. Sometimes neither my husband or I know where the latest nests are. We listen for the cackling for ideas on where to look. Turns out we aren't the only ones who do that. My husband was leaving the eggs hoping one of the hens would sit on them. The smallest one we call 'the little red hen' likes to do that. (My husband has always loved having babies.) But watching and waiting was the raven. One by one it stole the eggs from the nest in the old fish house and from the nest in the hay stored behind the garage. I saw it over the trees late Sunday afternoon and this time I could see the last of the eggs in its beak.