When we were out walking in the city on Sunday, Carol and I saw two crows fighting over something. As we got closer, one crow won and rose up triumphantly, a long strip of furry gray squirrel pelt hanging from its bill. “Ew,” we both said together; I had been expecting the crows to be fighting over a scrap of food that some human had dropped at the side of the road. As for the crows, they didn’t care what we thought one way or the other.