Wasps

We once had a real problem with crows, they were starting to colonise a beech tree near our garden and were savaging the smaller birds, eating goldfish from the pond and generally being a murderous menace. Dad instructed me to try and shoot one of them as a deterrent. I took my air rifle and crawled along the edge of a field near their beech tree. They're incredibly sharp. They knew I was there. Every time one settled nearby, at the moment I started to slowly lift the gun to my shoulder they would spot it and take off.

After maybe an hour of lying in the bush barely moving, a big lazy crow landed on the phone line that crossed the field. It hadn't seen me, so I slowly slowly raised the gun, lined the bird up in the sights and squeezed the trigger. It was a good shot. I aimed high and right to compensate for the wind and the angle, and I could hardly believe the dull smacking sound the pellet made when it hit the bird's neck. It took off from the line for a second, but then fell straight down into the long grass with its useless wings outstretched. I lowered the gun, watching.

Suddenly the sky above the dead bird was full of crows, maybe fifty of them. They were circling madly and swooping at the body and screaming out. It was terrible and crazy and weird and full of grief, like a voodoo funeral. It went on for twenty minutes and then they disbanded slowly and left. And they never came back to the tree. The crow remains the only animal I ever shot.

Then a wasp stung me on the balls and I went home.

Ace story.