when I was younger, I had the chance to meet a fellow who had a still - Cornmash whiskey .
one day we happened to be there, when he had diposed of the alchohol laden mash into nearby field behind his rural home. we sat out there talking , me listening, when he said , "here they come ", pointing to a flock of crows . They soon found the mash and began consuming it - and getting drunk .
it was happy hour for these birds . we sat their laughing with them , I swear they would look at each other and in their now inebriated call, poke fun at each other - You are soooo drunk , nooo , you are soooo drunk . they would waddle around , tripping over their feet , and once and awhile one would decide to try and fly - with predictable result - up it would go circling and then one could tell, it realized this was a bad, bad idea and attempt a soft landing - keyword attempt. the poor bird usually came in hard and fast , crashing into a few others on the ground trying to wave off their drunk friend.
eventually, they all waddled off to the shade of the walnut trees and managed to find roost and sleep it off . memories .