I watched The Lone Ranger last week, the film with Johnny Depp in that hasn’t done as well as expected at the box office.
I’m not surprised. It had some great moments of action, but those book-ended a rather long and drawn-out plot that lasted two or so hours in the middle.
The reason that I mention the film is because the character Johnny was playing, Tonto, wore a crow on his head for the entire show.
I would say it was a dead one (presumably stuffed), but I may have got that wrong. It could have been a model of some sort.
I hope it was a model as, also last week, I discovered what it was like to have a very alive and very real and very angry crow on your head.
Yep, you read that correctly. It was on my head, pushing me downwards, wings flapping around my ears.
I think that was out of anger. It certainly wasn’t a calm moment, or a friendly one as far I was concerned.
No wonder those winged beasts are used in so many horror movies to signify peril or curses.
It was truly terrifying – the noise, the surprise, the pain, the fact that it had landed on my head on purpose.
I was out walking my dog and the crow had stalked us from the get-go. It had spied with its beady little black eye that I had a pocket full of tuna treats, lovingly home-crafted in the vain hope that my dog will start coming back to me again and stop acting like the truculent teenager he has become.
He has a ‘you whistlin’ me?’ (think De Niro) sneer stretched across his slobbery jowls as he streams on past, a black fur blur with attitude that no-one is ever going to tame – until the fire is lit and he wants his belly rubbed.
The crow knew what I had in my pocket, and unlike the dog who decided that tuna wasn’t cred enough, the crow wanted in on my action.
When hovering at the edge of my sight line didn’t work, he landed on my head.
No wonder Johnny’s film was a flop. I mean, fancy having a hat made of crow.
His may have been for laughs, but mine was not laughing after I beat it off with some choice language.
Be warned walkers...