The crow on your fence knows your face. She's known it for years. She told her family about you. They've never met you. They also know your face now. The grudge was inherited.
University of Washington researchers wore masks while trapping crows. Years later, crows who had never been trapped — young birds born after the study — would scold and dive-bomb anyone wearing that specific mask. The information was taught across generations.
She uses tools. She solves multi-step puzzles. She plans for the future — caching food she'll need later in locations she's scouted. She understands water displacement well enough to drop stones into a tube to raise the water level and reach a floating treat.
When one of her family dies, the others gather. Not to mourn — to study. They investigate how the death occurred, identify the threat, and adjust their behavior. They hold a safety briefing over a casualty.
She eats 40,000 grubs and pest insects per family per season. She eats carrion. She buries seeds that become oak trees. She's running a three-shift operation — pest removal, sanitation, reforestation — and she remembers the face of everyone who's ever thrown a rock at her.
