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I’ve been smiling at crows for years.

They remember human faces, and they hold grudges. If they’re particularly mad, they’ll even gather their pals and then come find you to fuck you up.

So yeah, I want them to know I’m nice. A friend. An ally.

Make fun of me all you want, but I’ve never been attacked by a crow. Not once!

Not when former colleagues were dive-bombed outside our office door. Not when friends in my neighbourhood were regularly terrorized. Not when I lived deep in East Van and they’d gather on the wires in the alley outside my house.

After moving from East Van to Mount Pleasant, I soon noticed that my northwest-facing balcony perfectly lined up beneath the crows’ evening commute from Vancouver into Burnaby, where they roost (I know, I know: the roost is unbearably loud and gross. But that’s Burnaby’s problem). Watching the birds fly overhead each night was a comfort; it became part of my routine as much as theirs. It felt like I was in on their secret. Like I was part of their club.

All of this has led me to see crows as my protectors. Have they actually ever done anything to protect me? No—at least nothing that I’m conscious of. But they haven’t come after me, either, which in this city feels like a triumph.

Crows are more like us than we probably care to believe. They have a natural sense of curiosity. They know how to make their own tools. They can solve puzzles. They can control their impulses. They help their parents raise their siblings. They hold funerals for their dead. They build decoy nests if they think they’re being watched. They understand traffic lights. They even gossip.

Seagulls? They’re squawking airheads, I agree. Pigeons? They need a long, hot shower—every last one of them. Canada geese? Don’t even get me started on those webbed-feet fuckers. But crows? Crows are chic (I mean, look at them: they dress in all black!). Crows are a little spooky, but in an intriguing way. Crows are iconic.

Crows are also the Most Vancouver Animal, as voted by you, our readers, in this year’s Best of Vancouver awards. So how could we not honour this unofficial symbol of our city with a glamorous cover shoot? Brat Summer is ending. Crow Fall has begun.