I read with interest an excerpt from Lyanda Lynn Haupt's book, Crow Planet, in Utne Reader recently, and then swiftly, as so often occurs to me these days, saw the book in the library. Now that I've meandered through it, I can say I was delighted with the crow bits, less enchanted by the philosophical riffs on the urban wilderness, the author's angsty moments, etc., etc. I really had hoped the book would be all about crows. ( Maybe I am bring picky here--the author writes well and there is much corvus-ian info.)
Crows, like the pigs in many parts of Asia, among their many activities, eat roadkill/foodwastes, spilled big Macs, and Cousin Leta's tossed-out 2008 fruitcake, that would otherwise leave urban and suburban areas icky. Crows and pigs both have been deemed off the charts re their smarts, too.
( It was humans, you recall, who misguidedly killed off the pigs of Cairo recently, and thus became awash in garbagey-areas now presumably patrolled by staggeringly fat crows.)
So crows, though lovers of corn, are omnivores, not reliant on any particular food source. Writes the author, "A crow does not know what the day's food will be. A meal must be sought out, wrung from its place, and perhaps defended."
Am I more like a crow than I thought? As I peer into pantry and fridge at the start of the day, or stroll the market, I am certain I will eat, but usually not until actual feeding time do I decide what I will toss together and how.