Just had one of the most shocking experiences of my life!

Just out the shower had a call from a mate about going biking. All my biking gear is down stairs so I potter out of the bedroom onto the little landing outside our room in nothing more than my boxer shorts, without a care in the world. Walk out to be met by a big black crow flying at my head! Yes I did scream like a girl, but he didn’t seem to understand “Get the **** away from me!!” at such a high pitched frequency at that volume. Got past him got some clothes on (which does make you feel much more manly) and went back up and let him out the rooflight in the bed room. Then had to stalk the house trying to find out where such a bird could have entered, checking all the windows for signs of B&E, or if he had let any of his mates in. It was fairly obvious when I pushed open the living room door and turned on the lights to find it ankle deep in soot.
Doesn’t appear to have crapped everywhere which is a relief.

Resting pulse is just about down under 100 so gonna risk going out on the bike. Hey it is Friday 13th – how bad can it be??

What is the significance of it being friday on the 13th day of the month? All gibberish hocus pocus to me…..

….. Funny story though 🙂

Darned crows.
It must have really wanted to get you to go to all that trouble getting in, then waiting until you were at your most vulnerable.

It’ll probably come back in to peck your eyes out in the middle of the night. Eeeek.

Friday the 13th was when Philip of France had the Templars burnt at the stake. Supposedly that’s why Friday the 13th is considered unlucky.

13th, hmmm, figures, got knocked off the bike this morning by a hare, yes – a HARE! It came around a blind corner at full speed towards me and ran head first into my front wheel. Down I went in a cloud of fluff. Austen 1 – 0 Hare.

Am now sporting some nice big patches of road rash down my right side.

I always thought the number 13 was considered unlucky because that was how many were at the last supper. Wikipedia has many suggestions though.

This is more interesting though.

One unlucky woman.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beverly_Eckert

Be very wary; Crows are evil…

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
‘Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, tapping at my chamber door –
Only this, and nothing more.’

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore –
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore –
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door –
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; –
This it is, and nothing more,’

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
‘Sir,’ said I, ‘or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you’ – here I opened wide the door; –
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, ‘Lenore!’
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, ‘Lenore!’
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
‘Surely,’ said I, ‘surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore –
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; –
‘Tis the wind and nothing more!’

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door –
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door –
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
‘Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said, ‘art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore –
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’
Quoth the raven, ‘Nevermore.’

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning – little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door –
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as ‘Nevermore.’

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered – not a feather then he fluttered –
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before –
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.’
Then the bird said, ‘Nevermore.’

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
‘Doubtless,’ said I, ‘what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore –
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of “Never-nevermore.”‘

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore –
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking ‘Nevermore.’

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
‘Wretch,’ I cried, ‘thy God hath lent thee – by these angels he has sent thee
Respite – respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!’
Quoth the raven, ‘Nevermore.’

‘Prophet!’ said I, ‘thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil! –
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted –
On this home by horror haunted – tell me truly, I implore –
Is there – is there balm in Gilead? – tell me – tell me, I implore!’
Quoth the raven, ‘Nevermore.’

‘Prophet!’ said I, ‘thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us – by that God we both adore –
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore –
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?’
Quoth the raven, ‘Nevermore.’

‘Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!’ I shrieked upstarting –
‘Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! – quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!’
Quoth the raven, ‘Nevermore.’

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted – nevermore!

Twa Corbies (Anon):

As I was walking all alane,
I heard twa corbies making a mane;
The tane unto the t’other say,
‘Where sall we gang and dine to-day?’

‘In behint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new slain knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.

‘His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady’s ta’en another mate,
So we may mak our dinner sweet.

‘Ye’ll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I’ll pike out his bonny blue een;
Wi ae lock o his gowden hair
We’ll, theek our nest when it grows bare.

‘Mony a one for him makes mane,
But nane sall ken where he is gane;
Oer his white banes, when they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair.’

(For the non-Scots speakers: it’s about two crows or ravens eating the corpse of a forgotten knight)

Well back from my ride and there is a crow on the chimney pot. Not happy about it

So swept, then hovered then mopped the floor and set the fire. Not ideal as it is pretty warm so have the window open and there are roadworks just outside. Will get the landlord to put up a crow guard as will be back mopping again tomorrow, and i dont fancy going through all this again. Will also make sure that when the GF gets back she is first out the bedroom in the mornings. Chivalry?? Pah…

Oh I am not remotely superstitious, it was just that it happened today. Got through last month’s without any problems. I did get stung on my finger out riding today though

We’ve just let another 3 go at our place.
Not a happy 13th for those boys.

Within the fire and out upon the sea,
Crazy Man Michael was walking.
He met with a raven with eyes black as coals,
And shortly they were a-talking

“Your future, your future, I would tell to you.
Your future, you often have asked me.
Your true love will die by your own right hand.
And Crazy Man Michael will cursed be.”

Michael he ranted and Michael he raved,
And beat at the four winds with his fists-o.
He laughed and he cried, he shouted and he swore,
For his mad mind had trapped him with a kiss-o.

“You speak with an evil, you speak with a hate,
You speak for the devil that haunts me
For is she not the fairest in all the broad land,
Your sorcerer’s words are to taunt me.”

He took out his dagger of fire and of steel,
And struck down the raven through the heart-o.
The bird fluttered long and the sky it did spin,
And the cold earth did wonder and start-o.

“Oh, where is the raven that I struck down dead,
That here did lie on the ground-o?
I see but my true love with a wound so red,
Where her lover’s heart it did pound-o.”

Crazy Man Michael, he wanders and walks,
And talks to the night and the day-o.
But his eyes they are sane and his speech it is clear
And he longs to be far away-o.

Michael he whistles the simplest of tunes,
And asks of the wild wolves their pardon.
For his true love is flown into every flower grown,
And he must be keeper of the garden.

I read the first post as ‘cow’, rather than ‘crow’. I was having great difficulty understanding how you let it out the rooflight.

FOOLS!! it would have been a Jackdaw, you wouldn’t have ended up with a Crow down your chimney, they nest in trees!

they are very kind & sensitive little birds actually, lovely little creatures to study to be honest.

Bah, I’ve just rebuilt 2 bikes and had a busy day-had probelsm on other days with them except today.

Luck?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N9_6IODy0mU

Be very wary; Crows are evil…

yeah, but she’d still get it.

You watch; yer pecker’ll fall off….

GlenH posting the Edgar Allan Poe poem. Proper quality.

Possibly one of the greatest poems, after Jabberwocky?

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! and through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

I bow to your knowledge MrNutt, however Wikipedia informs me that a jackdaw is a crow. The description of a jackdaw does fit though so thank you for that. It was all black so that would make it a juvenile apparently.