Now this is how inane things come about with me--I mentioned to friend Dottie that the prolonged bitter cold must have killed off a lot of songbirds, because I don't hear them singing in the morning anymore. The only thing you can count on hearing are crows.
Then I say to Dottie the cold has even  grounded the buzzards. They have to have warm thermals to help get up in the air and soar without flapping their wings. The thermals also bring them scents of carrion from the ground below. But I saw crows picking at a 'possum road kill the other day.
Dottie flatly says "Crows don't eat carrion." If she thinks she's right, she flat lines it, and nothing changes her mind. She says crows will pick up shiny objects off the ground to line their nest, but not eat carrion. I said yes they will--I not only saw it, but remember a poem from high school. However I couldn't remember the name of the poem from the middle ages, just the gist of it. A research librarian found it easily (as I could have.) This is one bit about a slain knight "In behint yon auld fail dyke--I wot there lies a new slain knight--and nobody knows that he lies there-- but his hawk, his hound, and his lady faire."
The poem was about "twa corbies"  (two ravens) who discuss dining on the slain knight. It is written in Old English--Scottish but it is a poem I never forgot from high school because of the perfidity of the lady faire and the lonely sound of it. Just enter "The Twa Corbies" on your search engine and it will come up. Read it and see what you think.

susil