Vancouver, we need to talk about Canuck the crow.
His fans and supporters have already held a candlelight vigil, posted emotional videos on Facebook and apparently raised $10,000 for the beloved bird’s safe return.
It’s a bit surreal.
Of course, we hope there’s a happy ending to this wayward crow tale. But it’s very conceivable that Canuck has flown to the big rookery in the sky. And not the one in Burnaby. That’s what crows do. They die. Especially ones that are in the final stretch of their average lifespan, which is five to seven years.
Same with humans. You and I will die. So will Ryan Gosling. So will Margaret Atwood, Donald Trump, the cutest baby you’ve ever seen and everyone else on this planet — even the ones who can afford cryogenic freezing.
Regardless if Canuck the crow is currently of this world, there will be a time when he is not, and when that happens we fully expect this city to lose its cool. For a preview of what this might look like, cast your minds back to 2017 when Canuck the crow was “attacked” by lineman wielding a flagpole at an East Van soccer game. The number of stories in the media about the incident, the subsequent SPCA investigation, Canuck’s recovery and return to the wild, the veterinarian who nursed him back to health and the subsequent animal cruelty awareness and “crow-funding” campaigns was breathtaking, if not a little exhausting.
Do you think you or I will get that kind of media coverage when we die? Doubtful. Unless, of course, we’re killed by Margaret Atwood, which would be kind of cool when you think about it.
There’s a good chance we may never know for sure what’s happened to Canuck the crow. He could become the Jim Morrison of the crow world, where conspiracy-minded people believe he is still alive, living in France, far away from the glaring eyes of a relentless public.
In some ways, that might be the best fate for him. He is a crow, after all.