It’s hard to recall exactly when I started paying attention to the crow problem. By the time school had started back up I was takin’ notice of the fact that maybe there were a few more around than normal, but it weren’t ‘til that game with Norwood that it really became apparent as to what was happening.
Uncle Dave was still off that leg, so I put him in a lawn chair in the back of the truck, and we went out to watch the football, backed up to the sidelines with a cooler full of Natty Ice. While basketball ain’t really our community’s forte, it could be truthfully said that boys from Mud Creek were built to play football. Lotta girls were too. One year we even had ‘ol Michelle Montoya on the line as left tackle and she wiped a lotta smirks off a lotta boys’ faces. Even them Utes from Ignacio walked outta here with their tails between their legs after she had her way with ‘em. Our kiddos were seasoned in the dirt, mean as hell thanks to some right shitty parentin’, and they had a love for running into things headfirst just as hard as you could stand to watch. Ours was a squad to be feared. Lotta anger out here. Football’s a good way to let it come out. Poorest man feels rich when he whups someone’s ass real good in front of a crowd. That’s what it’s all about, right there.
So we watched our boys send three of theirs off in tears. Sat under them thick quilts and drank cold beer while the early October air tried to claw its way in there. Then them crows started showin’ up. Settin’ down on the cables right above our heads, landin’ out in the field and makin’ a big ‘ol black patch on our side between the thirty-five and forty yard line. Then perchin’ on the cab of the truck. Everyone had got real quiet. Boys broke their huddles and just kinda stared.
They finally took the snap and played on, crows be damned. They settled into that patch of grass though, and would scatter anytime the boys came through there only to set themselves back down where they started once it was all clear. They’d rustle and cluck a bit, but then they’d be just be silent as all get out.
“What kinda sign is this here, Ollie?” Uncle Dave crushed an empty in his right hand and threw it against the inside of the closed tailgate. “You got that .243 in there. I say squeeze off a couple and send these bastards on their way. This ain’t good. You ain’t gonna hit no one if you aim into the dirt.”
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”
I damn near fell outta my chair when this voice comes out from just two feet behind us. I twist myself around while staying under the blanket to see about SIX of them damn crows just hoppin’ around on top of the cab. One catches my eye and hops right toward me, right to the edge, and screams, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”.
“It’s the crows”, I tell Uncle Dave, since he couldn’t really move himself around too well. I turned back to face the field just in time to see Randy Marcum bust out for thirty five on the option as Lloyd McNeal’s boy flicked it to him comin’ round our side. Them crows had to scatter, but they came right back. Boys set up on about the twenty two and punched it home with a look-in pass on the right side. Some good blocking from our half-back, got out there and put some old-testament hurt on their outside linebacker. 19-0, Mud Creek.
I turned and threw an open can of beer at them birds on the cab. About half full. It hit the edge of the cab and geysered out, sendin’ them six shitheads flyin’ outta there, with the one screamin’, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”. Folks in the bleachers all kinda turned and leaned over to see what the ruckus was. When they seen it was Uncle Dave and I they all just sat back down goin’, “Oh. Them two boys.”, like it was us who had somehow brought them birds here. Thing was that’s exactly what happened. We just weren’t aware of the facts, as of yet. Important thing was that Norwood came outta there with a loss while we come outta there with a win. San Juan Basin RE-6 assassins. Gawdamn Mud Creek. We ain’t get no respect except for when it comes to something like this. And then all we get is a paragraph in the Dolores Herald.
All them crows just up and flew away not too much later.