We have decided on a Jerry condo (a largish Amazon box that came back from the coast bearing seedlings last weekend) because it needs room for: Towel, water source, food, and (hopefully) Jerry the Crow.
If Jerry’s spend the entire evening in the corner of the yard near a fence-corpse, Jerry might in fact be a bit peeved. Or if Jerry was stuffed in the fence and only recently emerged, he can’t be in a very good mood.
As long as the kids stay well back, and Jerry or the corpse doesn’t go for them, we might conceivably get through Jerry Watch Situation 2021 without any injuries. And in the morning I can approach the Question of Jerry.
I am currently pondering the question of Jerry Gloves. Gardening gloves might be too thin to protect me, but the fence-mending gloves mean I won’t have the necessary delicate control and might end up hurting Jerry.
It is dusk. True sundown was just a minute or so ago. My daughter snuck a small bowl of oyster crackers and a small dish of water out onto the deck, partly to have them handy and partly to gauge the Sandra situation.
Once Jerry has been nabbed—possibly in the towel my son is carrying—it will be a matter of swiftly shoving him into the Asshole Crow Condo, then holding the towel before the entrance until he calms the fuck down.