THIS FOR THAT (+ Polyphonic prose)

I’ve been feeding the neighborhood crows, peanuts, dry noodles, and the like. One crow stops every day, atop the front streetlight… I call it Mike. Over the last year, I’ve gotten to know some well. One waits there quietly, on my backyard fence, which I just call Mel.   Mostly, they stay out at the main road, hanging around in the trees, if not engaged in a pulling-the-lawn-apart spree, like they’ve done to some neighbors on my street. It's not problematic, they keep away woodpeckers, squirrels, and raccoons; several others having an eye on making residence in my attic.   My neighbor, Moe, threw rocks at the crows; now they hate him, and it shows. They’ll wildly squawk and swoop, close and low, whenever he tries leaving his own home.   Near to me, they began acting more relaxed, presenting tokens for more potato chip snacks. In my opinion, they think of my yard as their declared dominion, trading for peanuts with Lego men, Sponge Bob, and one lone clown-looking Minion.