S'Up, Brah?

I have what is a likely not-uncommon preoccupation with corvids. They're just so darn fun to watch and, perhaps because or as a result of their close proximity to us, their antics take on eerily human-like qualities. I like to think that in addition to holding personal grudges and the ability to attribute mental states to unseen others ravens have opinions and a sense of humor.

This drawing was definitely inspired in part by a captive raven I knew as kid, named Graw. He was an unreleasable rescue who lived in the natural history museum where I took ceramics, wood shop, and marine biology classes. The museum had dozens of fascinating animals, but Graw was my favorite because he was the only one that acknowledged my powerful, innate ability to communicate with animals telepathically. The others, who could certainly understand me perfectly, I felt were standoffish. Graw, by contrast, would follow me with his croaks and chatter and shiny, knowing eyes. He had a gimpy wing and an impressive vocal repertoire of clicks and caws. Most impressively, after years of being greeted by the museum staff, he had learned to belch "Hi, Graw" back at people in a disconcerting monotone. I'd race around his pen in circles shouting "Hi, Graw!" while he galloped from perch to perch, keeping pace with me, and croaking "Hi, Graw" in response to every third exclamation I made.

He grew less talkative and less athletic over time and finally passed away after a long fruitful life seeding wonderment in young people. My animal telepathy has since grown rusty and I've met wilier, more learned birds, but my mental voice for every raven is still Graw's: curious, contemplative, demanding, and a little lonely.