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Crows May Seem Ominous—But They’re Backyard Geniuses Smarter Than Your Dog

They hold 17-year grudges, craft tools like kids, and gift treasures to kind feeders

To read on Substack: https://thekindlife.substack.com/p/crows-may-seem-ominousbut-theyre

Crows carry an eerie reputation (medieval folklore linked them with death, ill-omens, and the supernatural), but their genius rivals apes and young children in problem-solving, memory, and social savvy. Consider New Caledonian crows, close relatives of the American crow, which have been observed in University of Auckland labs bending wire into hooks or carving twigs to fish food from tight tubes, demonstrating tool-making skills once thought unique to humans. Crows in labs ace the 6th-century Aesop’s fable “The Crow and the Pitcher”: after viewing water-filled cylinders from various angles, they drop optimally sized stones to raise the water level and snag a floating treat—matching toddlers’ reasoning skills. Magpies, a fellow corvid (corvids include crows, ravens, rooks, magpies, and jays), pass the mirror self-recognition test—a rare feat outside of great apes and a few cetaceans like dolphins.

Crows lock onto human faces with remarkable precision, holding grudges against threats for up to 17 years (longer than an individual lifetime), sharing that intel across family networks, and even teaching hatchlings born long after the fact. In a University of Washington study by corvid researcher John Marzluff, 7 crows were temporarily trapped by a masked person in 2006; in 2013, 47 of the campus’s 53 crows (family networks) mobbed the mask-wearer. The scolding continued, gradually declining over the years, and ending in 2023—showing multi-generational grudge-sharing. Their brains, though walnut-sized, pack twice the neuron density of great apes and enable skills like cooperating in family crews to defend turf and outsmart rivals. Crows outpace dogs in mechanical puzzles, retrieving tools via insight where canines guess-and-check. On lab puzzles demanding multi-step logic, crows match the causal reasoning of 5- to 7-year-olds, dismantling traps and inventing tools on the fly.

Then there’s the “gifting”—one of crowkind’s most enchanting quirks, backed by verified anecdotes collected by experts like Marzluff. If you feed them consistently, they might repay you with treasures: a shiny button, a lost earring, a pierced soda-tab necklace, or a candy heart neatly placed on your feeder. In Seattle, eight-year-old Gabi Mann fed neighborhood crows for years; they responded by curating a collection of beads, metal scraps, a broken pearl earring, and half a “Best Friends” heart pendant. Marzluff himself documented a man finding a candy conversation heart perched on his bird feeder after regular feedings, as well as crows threading soda tabs onto pine sprigs and leaving them precisely where food appeared daily.

Here in Pennsylvania, the pattern holds: a bird-feeding friend in western PA shared three photos of gifts left by crows—a man’s tie, a rubber band, a bit of fluff (see below)—placed deliberately on the porch adjacent to her daily peanut feeding station.

Scientists like Marzluff caution that intent remains tricky (is it true reciprocity, or is it learned conditioning where dropped trinkets prompt more peanuts?), but a 2014 study from Austria’s Konrad Lorenz Institute found ravens and crows far more eager to exchange objects with familiar humans than with strangers, supporting social reciprocity over mere conditioning.

When next you spot a flock of crows (the medieval phrase “murder of crows” is falling into disuse) gathering in your yard, don’t consider it ominous. It’s elite wildlife intelligence at work—sharper than your dog in memory and mechanics, with a dash of mysterious generosity. Your next backyard visitor might just leave you a gift.

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Crow gift photos – anonymous
Crow photo courtesy of Sonny Mauricio

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How to Help a Neglected Backyard Dog in Winter (Even If It’s Not Yours)

All over the U.S., backyard dogs are shivering through freezing nights with no real shelter. Here’s exactly what you can do today.

Help a 24/7 backyard dog

Share this post to help more dogs: https://thekindlife.substack.com/p/what-you-can-do-to-help-a-neglected

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What Ants Teach Us About Compassion and What We Refuse to Learn

A Surprising Lesson in Empathy from Small Creatures

Written by coalitionforanimalrights.substack.com; excerpts reprinted with permission

View in substack: https://thekindlife.substack.com/p/what-ants-teach-us-about-compassion

Last month, I watched tiny black ants gather on my patio. At first, they seemed like nothing more than a background hum in the soundtrack of life, moving from plant to plant with that mysterious, purposeful rhythm ants always have. But then I saw something that changed me, something that should trouble every human being who calls themselves compassionate. Scattered among the crawling ranks were the bodies of their fallen. And what these ants did next stunned me: they carefully lifted their dead, one by one, carrying them to a makeshift memorial, a lined row set aside where no one would trample them. It was a display not of instinct alone, but of respect and community, a mourning ritual in miniature that revealed profound dignity in the lives we too often overlook.

It deepened my respect for these often-ignored creatures. Ants, like all living beings, carry out their lives with purpose and grace, even in a world that largely disregards them. Seeing them care for their dead struck me. It forced me to confront something uncomfortable: these tiny beings, so small we barely register their existence, showed a degree of consideration that many humans lack entirely, especially when it comes to the vast suffering inflicted by human hands.

Because the truth is harsh: we live in a world where animals suffer at an unimaginable scale. Where countless creatures are hunted for “fun,” lives extinguished under the guise of sport, where bullets crack through beautiful bodies just for the rush of a kill. Psychological research suggests that killing animals for pure recreation reflects a profound absence of empathy, stripping life from sentient beings for pleasure betrays a chilling disregard for suffering and pain.

And it’s not just the obvious violence of hunting. Day after day, animals are tortured, exploited, commodified, and dismissed as lesser simply because they do not speak our language or resemble us. This isn’t accident, it’s a systemic cruelty rooted in a worldview that separates humans from nature instead of recognizing our shared existence. Even scholars have noted that mistreatment of animals can be a reflection of a broader moral corruption, where cruelty becomes normalized and empathy erodes.

So pause here for a moment and let the weight of that sink in. Think of the deer hunted on a whim, the birds shot down as targets, the foxes trapped in agonizing steel jaws. Think of the animals who are bred and confined, their entire lives devoid of the simplest joys—no freedom, no play, no safety, no respect. Feel the sadness, because it is real. These are not abstractions; these are living, feeling beings whose suffering echoes in a way we should never, ever dismiss as “just nature” or “just tradition.” Our empathy, like something fragile and sacred, is what binds us not just to each other, but to the world we share.

Watching ants honor their dead pushed me to see something deeper: life is finite, fragile, and sacred. Whether it’s an ant, a bird, or a magnificent stag, each creature deserves dignity in life and peace in death. We are all only here for a time, sharing this planet with countless other beings. To truly understand them, to cohabit rather than dominate, [we must] challenge the conditioning that teaches us to fear or exploit nature.

I’m not suggesting you invite every animal into your home. But the next time an ant or a spider or a bird crosses your path, pause. Remember the larger home we all share. There is almost always a peaceful, nonviolent way to coexist. There must be. Because when even ants show respect for their departed, what excuse do we have for the atrocities we commit in the name of entertainment, tradition, or convenience?

Our compassion defines us. Our willingness to stand up for those who cannot speak for themselves is how we honor life, not just the adorable and familiar, but the vulnerable, the forgotten, the thousands whose lives are cut short by our indifference. If we can learn from the ants, then surely we can learn to protect rather than destroy.

Share this story. Talk about it with others. Let it stir something in you that compels action, whether that’s kindness in everyday interactions, advocacy for animal rights, or support for a movement that refuses to let suffering continue unquestioned. Let it remind you that every life matters, no matter how small, and that true humanity is measured not by how we treat our own, but by how we treat all beings with whom we share this Earth.

Thoughtful humane stories about animals, nature, and what it means to be human. Weekly posts, no spam. To subscribe: https://thekindlife.substack.com/

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How to Tell the Difference Between a Lost and Feral Cat

Half of Lost Cats Are Indoor-Only—Don’t Assume Every Outdoor Cat Is Feral

To read on Substack: https://thekindlife.substack.com/

When people see a cat outdoors, it’s not uncommon to assume that the cat is feral rather than lost. Contrary to popular belief, almost half of lost cats are indoor-only pets. Of the approximate 80 million “owned” cats in the US, estimates are that up to one-third of them go missing at some point, and a quarter of those of lost cats are never reunited with their families.

It can be difficult initially to tell the difference between a lost cat and a feral one, because both are likely to be wary. Here are some tips to help you to tell the difference, and what then to do.

Lost cat:

  • Might meow—feral cats (except kittens) do not meow. They often live in fear and do not meow to avoid detection by predators
  • May be skittish initially but may come to tolerate being approached and/or may seek out human help/contact
  • May hang out near houses because they are familiar locales
  • May be friendly, as the cat has socialized with humans at some point
  • Is alone (feral cats can be part of a community of feral cats)
  • The fur may appear dirty or ungroomed
  • Is diurnal—out during the day because they have adopted human schedules

Feral cat:

  • Does not meow at humans
  • Is hypervigilant, skittish, and unfriendly and/or takes a long time to become trusting
  • Is more likely to be nocturnal or crepuscular (active at dawn and dusk).
  • May have an ear tip clipped (if they were trapped and spayed/neutered at some point)

What to do for a lost cat:

  • Provide water and food, and provide shelter in cold weather
  • Lure it inside or trap it, take it to a local animal shelter* or ask them to pick it up, or have your vet or a shelter scan the cat for a chip
  • Assess whether it is sick or injured; if so, call your local animal shelter for help
  • Check on ‘missing cats’ online boards and advertise “found cat” with photo and location on: https://www.pawboost.com https://nextdoor.com https://www.facebook.com as well as on telephone polls, etc.

What to do for a feral cat:

  • Life is rough for feral cats—they generally live only two to three years. Provide water, food, and shelter
  • Cats were originally desert animals and do not fare well in cold weather. Provide shelter to reduce their suffering. Here are some easy options:Build a shelter: how to build a cat-friendly shelter for ferals • how to build an outdoor shelter for cats Buy a shelter: Elevated cat shelter
  • Consider TNR (trap, neuter, release) if the cat is healthy and well-fed (if not, trapping and euthanasia is infinitely kinder)
  • Assess whether it is sick or injured; if so, call your local animal shelter for help

Compassion in Action:

To find your local animal shelter, go to: https://www.chewy.com/g/animal-shelters-and-rescues

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The Cat & Erna’s Garden

View on Substack: https://thekindlife.substack.com/p/the-cat-and-ernas-garden

Erna’s home carried the scent of roses and crisp cotton sheets. Her kitchen was sunny, with worn oak floorboards and flowery curtains billowing in on the breeze.

These days Erna’s garden is overgrown with tassel-topped grasses and dotted with sparse flowers. The shutters and gutters are slightly askew, and moss grows on the white clapboard. Sometimes I come to watch the weeping willow’s arms sweep across the pebble driveway, and to remember.

I knew Erna long before she knew me. From the woods where I lived I watched as she carried a basket on her hip to the clothesline. . . as she tilted her face toward the sun and closed her eyes. . . as she weeded the garden and gathered an armful of flowers for her table.

One afternoon I sauntered over to her as she was pegging out the laundry. “Oh!” she said, “Oh! Wait here.”

black and white cat ID-10029960

She came back with remnants of a pork chop and a small bowl of water. Each afternoon after that I visited her. She sat next to me on the patio as I ate, talking about anything that occurred to her. I think she was lonely.

Cold weather came early that year, and the wind bit through my fur. One day, as I waited for her on the patio, Erna held the door wide open. “Well, come in,” she said. I walked in and made myself at home.

By day I kept her company in the kitchen as she worked, her hands moving in and out of shafts of light, her shoulders soft and rounded. She hummed tunelessly to the soft, repeating clang of the wooden spoon against the mixing bowl.

By evening we sat by the fire in winter, and by the open window in summer. Erna worked with her hands, making afghans, quilts, and linen napkins, always in shades of green.

By night I slept on the window seat under the dormer, the stars glimmering overhead.

In time, Erna became ill. People came and went from the house. I slept curled by her feet, caring for her as I could. She passed away anyway. I watched them carry her from the house, but it wasn’t her.

A neighbor woman took me home with her. I’ve made my life there with her family, and it’s a good life. But sometimes I come here to Erna’s garden, to sense her, to feel our life together.

Compassion in Action:

If you see a stray cat, consider helping it by taking it in or taking it to a rescue.

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Self-Rescuing Bald Eagle?

View on Substack: The Kind Life

Thanks for reading! For weekly stories and simple actions that improve animal welfare: The Kind Life

An injured, fully grown bald eagle was found at the door of wildlife rehab center in British Columbia. It remained unmoving and quiet, and peered into the glass door. A broadhead hunting arrow was embedded in its back and blood loss was evident.

When staff carefully approached, the eagle did not attempt to flee and allowed them to bring it into the facility. According to the veterinarians who treated it, the eagle showed no aggression or panic. Surgery was performed the same day and the wound was reported as severe but treatable. Without intervention the eagle would not have survived. The eagle was given antibiotics, pain management, and rehab to regain flight strength.

The eagle’s point of origin, route, and distance traveled are unknown, but one might surmise that the injury occurred in one of the hunting areas, none of which are close by.

Injured animals tend to seek cover instinctively, and there were several structures, unoccupied buildings, and forest edges where the bird might have sought cover. While biologists urge caution in interpreting events like these, the eagle’s behavior struck the staff as unusual. One stated, “It felt like it knew exactly where to go.” Even experienced wildlife professionals admitted the case was extraordinary.

Compassion in Action

What can you do when you see injured wildlife? Observe from a distance without approaching to avoid stressing the animal further, which could worsen injuries or lead to defensive behavior. Note key details like location, species, behavior, and visible injuries (e.g., limping or bleeding) for rescuers. Contact your local rehab facility by searching here: Local Wildlife Rehabs

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A Conversation Across Species

What happens when a bird masters human logic, proving intelligence knows no species? Alex the parrot’s story will change your perspective. For the complete tale, exclusive reader Q&A, and weekly actionable insights —join me for free on Substack

In the 1970s, a commonly held belief, especially among non–pet owners, was that animals were essentially automatons, reacting to stimuli but lacking the abilities to think or feel. Animal psychologist Irene Pepperberg sought to test the theory. In 1977, she brought Alex, an African gray parrot—a species famed for its mimicry—into her Brandeis University lab. She began an experiment that would eventually blur the boundary between human animal and nonhuman animal minds.

One of the ways Pepperberg taught Alex was through the Model/Rival technique, where two humans interacted in front of him so he could observe words used purposefully rather than merely repeated. Within a few years, Alex had a working vocabulary of more than a hundred words. Alex could identify objects by color, shape, or material—and even combine those concepts when asked questions like, “What color three-corner wood?” correctly answering “green.” He could infer absence, identifying a missing color through the process of elimination, demonstrating logic-based reasoning. When shown two items and asked, “Which is bigger?” or “Which is greener?” he chose accurately. He understood abstract ideas like “same,” “different,” and even “none,” correctly answering “none” when asked how many green keys were among a group of colored keys. He could also group objects conceptually (e.g., all keys as “metal,” all fruits as “food”).

Alex grasped the concept of individual identity; when researchers asked him which bird they were pointing to, he would appropriately answer “Alex” for himself or name another bird—like “Griffin” or “Arthur.” He identified letters by sound, not just shape. When Pepperberg showed him a written letter and asked, “What sound?” Alex could produce the correct phoneme, indicating phonological awareness—an ability linked to early literacy in humans.

He created words for unfamiliar objects by joining elements of known objects; he came up with “banerry” the first time he saw an apple, apparently blending “banana” and “cherry”—a creative leap suggesting flexible thought. He used refusals like “No” or “Don’t want that” with unambiguous purpose. Alex showed rudimentary counting skills, counting up to eight, and in controlled tests, adding together two small groups of items when asked, “How many total?”

Alex’s intelligence came with a distinct personality. He teased researchers by deliberately mislabeling objects, then laughing when they looked surprised. When a student once misidentified a color, Alex corrected her—“No, blue!”—and repeated himself until she agreed. When a trainer ate lunch without sharing it with him, Alex muttered “Naughty!” while turning his back in offense. When Alex lost his temper and bit a researcher, he later said, “I’m sorry,” without being prompted—a sign of contextual awareness and social repair behavior rather than mimicry. He showed empathy-like responses. If a researcher seemed upset or frustrated, Alex sometimes said, “Don’t be sad,” or “It’s OK,” echoing appropriate emotional cues.

Alex died unexpectedly in 2007. His final recorded words to Pepperberg were “You be good. See you tomorrow. I love you.” Alex left behind more than data; he left a challenge to our assumptions about animal consciousness. His life invites science to reconsider the borders of intelligence—not as an exclusive human territory, but as an area still largely unexplored across the living world.

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Compassion in Action:

Consider making compassionate consumer choices. Cruelty-free products are cosmetics, skincare, or household items not tested on animals at any stage, from ingredients to final formulation. Look for certifications like Leaping Bunny, which requires strict no-testing policies throughout the supply chain as well as independent, third-party verification.

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Bridget Bardot Gave a Voice to the Voiceless

To read on substack: https://substack.com/home/post/p-182806305

Bridget Bardot was defined in the 1950s and 1960s by her on-screen and off-screen uninhibited sexuality, voluptuous figure, and tousled blond hair. In 1973 she abruptly left acting, saying “I gave my beauty and my youth to men, and now I am giving my wisdom and experience, the best of me, to animals. . . I don’t care about my past glory. That means nothing in the face of an animal that suffers, since it has no power, no words to defend itself.”

While indifferent to her past, Bardot leveraged her fame to advance awareness of and reforms in animal welfare. Her contributions in the field include establishing the Fondation Brigitte Bardot for the Welfare and Protection of Animals; filing thousands of investigations and lawsuits against animal cruelty; lobbying for legislation against factory farming, slaughterhouse practices, the pet trade, religious ritualized slaughter, fur trapping and hunting, foie gras practices, and animal experimentation; opposing bullfighting, horse racing, and horse slaughter; advocating for dog meat bans in South Korea; funding shelters, spay/neuter programs, and wildlife rehabilitation centers; traveling to the Arctic to bring attention to the clubbing of baby harp seals; and promoting vegetarianism (originally) and then veganism.

In an essay in Ingrid E. Newkirk’s book One Can Make a Difference, Bardot wrote, “Young people are always a hope. More of them must realize that the animal is not an object for profit, not a toy for our amusement, hunted for sport, not something to be cut up for his fur. They may see that the animal has the right to live, just as we have the right to live. We, the animals, the plants are the whole, and the whole makes a chain, and if we break that chain, all of humanity will pay.”

Compassion in Action:

SPCA International (←please click to learn more about what this worthy organization is doing) – The winter is harsh, and countless dogs and cats are shivering, weak, and alone. Their goal is to save as many lives as possible. Your gift can make it happen.

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You Can Make a Difference to a Cold Dog, Cold Cat, Right Now

Right now, a trembling dog is curled against a frozen wall, fighting to stay awake. A hungry cat is crying in the dark, desperate for warmth that never comes.

Without help, they may not survive.

Please, don’t let them face the cold alone. You could be the reason one frightened animal is lifted out of the freezing night and into safety.

𝗗𝗼𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗕𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗠𝗶𝗱𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁: text.spcai.org/iiYpYCBzgFde

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝗣𝗖𝗔𝗜 𝗧𝗲𝗮𝗺 🐕

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Cat Daddies Documentary