Sticks will do for hands and feet, although neither is truly necessary. Crows have vivid imaginations and they can extrapolate from straw limbs to fingers and toes with little effort.
The head should be sculpted from burlap, again stuffed with straw. The eyes, nose, and mouth painted on. You can make it menacing if you want, but it isn’t necessary. Just the suggestion of a human face is supposed to be enough to frighten the crows.
A hat will complete the look. You should have a hat, unless you elect to give your scarecrow a head of hair, but such affectations generally detract from the overall effect. You can make a hat look much more natural than fake hair.
The alert student will note that the scarecrow, as outlined above, does not do what it purports to do. In other words, crows are generally not frightened by scarecrows.
This is no one’s fault. All inventions go through stages. At one time, in the distant past, I believe that such avatars did scare crows, but over the years the crows grew accustomed to them and learned that they did no harm whatsoever. We must now apply our intellect and imaginations and concoct the next stage in the evolution of scarecrows. Any suggestions as to how we might go about this?
Ah, yes, you with your hand up.
Pardon me?
You’re saying we should interview a crow.
Now class, calm down and save your snickering. It is not such a bad idea. In fact, I think it might be an excellent idea. Let’s begin by interviewing a crow.
Yes, here’s one flying by now. Excuse me. Crow. May I trouble you for a few moments?
Excellent, yes, thank you for stopping.
No this won’t take long.
What’s that?
You say you’re apolitical? I understand completely. But you see, this has nothing to do with politics.
No, I’m not asking you to sign any kind of petition or recall effort. I am interested in ascertaining what you are afraid of.
Yes, of course, I understand your suspicions, but I assure my motives are benign. I wish to produce a kind of scare device which will keep you and your kind from our agricultural regions.
I understand you need to eat, but we wish it that you would eat elsewhere.
Of course you can refuse to answer. It is a free country, but I would be remiss if I did not inform you of the fact that if we do not produce a suitable device, we will be forced to take more drastic measures, up to and including the killing of crows.
Oh, dear. Are you all right?
I didn’t mean to upset you.
No, it is not that I want to kill crows, it is that I may be forced to do so, for our own survival. I’m sure you understand.
Oh. You don’t understand. Well, that’s understandable.
So you will not answer my questions?
Very well.
I wish you the best. Thank you for your time.
And there goes the crow, flying in a decidedly crooked line. That did not go so well at all. Are there any other suggestions?
Yes, the young lady in the back. You wish to offer an idea?
Ahem, well, yes I see where you are going with that. If we were in fact to become crows we would, by necessity, be aware of what we feared. But how, may I ask, do you propose to turn any of us into crows?
I thought so.
Any other suggestions?
A show of hands, please. Surely someone has some ideas. You are the most advanced class in the academy. Am I to deduce from the general lack of hands showing that my most gifted students are unable to offer a single viable path to success in the present situation? Or are you afraid to look foolish? What have I said about such fears?
Yes, the young man in the front row.
Exactly. There are no foolish ideas, only fools who will not attempt to create ideas.
So let me ask you, one more time, how might we go about creating the next generation of scarecrow?
Nothing?
No one will even attempt a proposal?
Class, what is all that ruckus?
Calm down, please.
What are you pointing at?
Ah, I see. A flock of crows. Yes, and they appear to be heading in this direction. Well, this is fortuitous. Perhaps the pressure of an actual attack will spur you to heights of accomplishment.
Why should we take cover? You do not fear the crows do you? If anyone should, it is me.
Now class, those crows appear to be upset and they wish to unleash their fury on us. Here is your moment. Seize it! How will you scare them away? By what mechanism or sorcery?
No. No. It will not do to run away. Not now. Come back! Class, obey me! Return to your seats this instant.
Yes, my clothes are torn, I see that. My limbs are thin and bent. But why do you point at me so? My head is smooth and bald. What did you expect?
Where are you going?
Come back.
They do not fear me. They will be on me in an instant.
Class.
Come back.
Class, please return. Don’t leave me alone. I cannot face them any longer.
THE GAZE DOGS OF NINE WATERFALL
by Kaaron Warren
Rare dog breeds; people will kill for them. I’ve seen it. One stark-nosed curly hair terrier, over-doped and past all use. One ripped-off buyer, one cheating seller. I was just the go-between for that job. I shrank up small into the corner, squeezed my eyes shut, folded my ears over like a Puffin Dog, to keep the dust out.
I sniffed out a window, up and out, while the blood was still spilling. It was a lesson to me, early on, to always check the dog myself.
I called my client on his cell, confirming the details before taking the job.
“Ah, Rosie McDonald! I’ve heard good things about your husband.”
I always have to prove myself. Woman in a man’s world. I say I’m acting for my husband and I tell stories about how awful he is, just for the sympathy.
I’ll bruise my own eye, not with make-up. Show up with an arm in a sling. “Some men don’t like a woman who can do business,” I say. “But he’s good at what he does. An eye for detail. You need that when you’re dealing dogs.”
“I heard that. My friend is the one who was after a Lancashire Large. For his wife.”
I remembered; the man had sent me pictures. Why would he send me pictures?
“He says it was a job well done. So you know what I’m after?”
“You’re after a vampire dog. Very hard to locate. Nocturnal, you know? Skittish with light. My husband will need a lot of equipment.”
“So you’ll catch them in the day when they’re asleep. I don’t care about the money. I want one of those dogs.”
“My husband is curious to know why you’d like one. It helps him in the process.”
“Doesn’t he talk?”
“He’s not good with people. He’s good at plenty, but not people.”
“Anyway, about the dog: thing is, my son’s not well. It’s a blood thing. It’s hard to explain even with a medical degree.”
My ears ring when someone’s lying to me. Even over the phone. I knew he was a doctor; I’d looked him up.
“What’s your son’s name?”
The silence was momentary, but enough to confirm my doubts there was a son. “Raphael,” he said. “Sick little Raphael.” He paused. “And I want to use the dog like a leech. You know? The blood-letting cure.”
“So you just need the one?”
“Could he get more?”
“He could manage three, but your son … ”