The crow is a mischievous, sometimes cruel, but largely agreeable bird. Crows express themselves remarkably like dogs. They skip, cock their heads, blink, and scratch their ears with their feet. If you watch a crow on a hot day, you will see him open his mouth and pant. A crow likes to smooth his coat after he settles, because he has manners. He also struts in a way that shows great self-esteem.

Crows are dogs among birds, and we ought to extend to them the affection we reserve for dogs. Crows can be trained, but they are largely useless, and this is a mark in their favour. They lack the worst vice of dogs, obeisance. Crows live with the austerity of the cynic and with less pretension. We think to feed on death is disgusting, but the crow disagrees, and we are not in a position to judge, because death feeds on us.

Crows are reviled because they gather to send off the departed, wear funeral attire, cry harshly, and don't pay for the service. By parodying our funeral customs, crows show their superiority to death, not their obedience to it. In fact, crows are living creatures, while death lives only in the human heart. That is the happiness of crows.