She laughed. “It’s a little hike, Lucas, not a month-long excursion into the deep bush.”
“Funny thing is, when I was young, I wouldn’ta thought twice about a trip like that—a month out there in the bush.”
“Well, we change a lot as we grow older, don’t we?”
I laughed gruffly. “Some of us more’n others.”
I looked around: we were on a small, narrow gravel road lined with houses on both sides with the mountains rising up on our right. There were rusted out hulks of old cars in front of some of the houses, and power lines crisscrossed the road. A collarless dog, half-husky it looked like, trotted down the road away from us, its hind end on an angle following its front end. Liv set out down the road, her boots crunching in the gravel, and I kept pace beside her.
Within fifteen minutes, we were leaving the gravel behind and ascending quickly over rocky terrain, Sitka spruce towering over us, fragrant and massive; crows wheeled overhead, clicking and cawing in raucous conversation, discussing our presence with each other, alerting others ahead that we were coming.
Liv watched a crow hop and flutter from tree to tree, almost as if following us. “I’ve always been fascinated by crows,” she said.
I watched the one she was focused on. “Did you happen to toss any food aside, last time you were here?”
She frowned at me. “Um, yes, actually. I was eating a granola bar and didn’t want the last couple bites.”
“Let me guess: you saw a crow watching you, and set it down, and it got eaten.”
She nodded. “Yes. Why?”
“Well, crows are up there with dolphins and elephants when it comes to intelligence. They remember faces. Smarter than dogs, actually.”
She blinked at me in surprise. “Really?”
I nodded. “Yep. Down in Oklahoma, I’d come home from work and plop down in my easy chair and…uh, well, I’d turn on the TV. National Geographic channel, usually. Just as background noise. I watched this special on crows, and it just stuck with me.” I gestured at the crow still following us. “I’d bet dollars to donuts that that’s the crow that got your food.”
She slung her bag around to one shoulder and dug out a package of beef jerky, pinched a few pieces off of one end, and tossed them in the direction of the crow. “I wonder if I could tame one this way.”
I chuckled. “Absolutely.” I tipped my head to one side. “I mean, I don’t know abouttaming, exactly, but you could teach one to get pretty close. When I was a kid, Liam did that. We had this big ol’ murder of crows that lived in the woods not far from our cabin, and there was this one monster crow who liked to sit at the top of the tallest jack pine at the edge of the clearing, and it’d watch us play, and if we got too close to the edge of the woods, it’d set off an almighty racket—warnin’ its family we were comin’, I guess. Well, one day Liam got it into his fool head that he wanted that crow for a pet, and nothin’ Pa or Grandpa could say would change his mind. So he set about doing what you’re talking about—leaving food for it every day. It worked, sorta. The thing would hop down to within a hundred feet of Liam as he set out the food, which was usually bits of raw meat from a fresh kill. But that was as close as he could get it to come.”
“Still, pretty amazing, I bet.”
“Oh yeah, ’specially because that thing was damn near the size of a hawk. Big old beady black eyes, loud as anything.” I laughed, remembering. “Well, Liam was getting frustrated because he wanted to pet the damn thing. So Grandpa told him how crows love shiny things even more than they love food. So Liam went around collecting coins and bolts and anything shiny he could find, and he’d leave a few shiny things with the food. That crow went nuts for him, after that. It’d hop right up to him, take the food the second Liam set it down, eat it, take the shiny stuff, and leave.”
“Wow!” Liv exclaimed. “That’s so cool!”
“He got the thing to let him pet it, and that ain’t a word of a lie. In time, the crow started bringing Liam presents. It’d bring shiny stuff back, and once even a dead mouse it had caught. They exchanged presents.”
“That’s kind of crazy. I had no idea they were that smart.”
“Some species more than others. They can use tools, pass information down to the next generation…they mourn when one of their family dies. Pretty fascinating critters, actually.”
She smiled. “National Geographic, huh?”
I shrugged. “Somethin’ to watch.”
The hiking became a bit more strenuous, then, and I had to spare my breath for breathing. The trail twisted and turned, switched back on itself endlessly, climbing higher and higher. Soon, I was sweating and gasping, leaning on my walking stick, no longer trying to hide my limp.
Liv, of course, wasn’t breathing hard or sweating at all, and it seemed like she was just enjoying a nice easy walk in the woods—while I was huffing and puffing and dripping sweat like I was trying to climb up the sheer face of a mountain rather than a minor incline on a well-maintained trail.
I felt ashamed of myself, truth be told. Once upon a time, I could’ve carried a hundred-pound ruck on my back and all but jogged up this trail. Now, every step set my big ol’ belly jiggling and wobbling. My arms, too.
Well, pretty much everything on me jiggled and wobbled, as long as we’re talking truth.
Eventually, stubbornness and pride weren’t enough, and I knew I had to stop or risk another episode with my heart.
“Liv…” I gasped. “I need—I need a break.”
