Black feathered ravens find happiness in the salmon scraps I leave for the stray dogs in my backyard. Their little squabbles cause havoc amongst the scenery. Supposedly they’re a bad omen. I like to think they're unaware of that fact. Their cruel little faces seem friendly to me. The way they play and communicate is human-like to say the least. They’re all little children just chasing over each other for the chance at a treat. People say a raven can recognize a face. I wonder if they know me as the young girl who leaves them scraps? I wonder if that recognition will come to my superstitious aid someday…
