“A Peer-Reviewed Study on Why You’re Always Being Watched by a Crow”
(Institute for Avian Surveillance and Other Disappointments)
By Dr. Sabyasachi Roy, PhD, MBA, HOA Level 3

Abstract

You, specifically, are being watched by a crow. Not “people in general.” Not “someone out there.” You. This is not a metaphor. This is not a spiritual fable. This is not a goth phase. This is science. We have charts. We have caw-based data. We have a control group that accidentally summoned a parliament of ravens instead (they’re fine now, mostly).

Over a 24-month observational study funded by a grant we may have misunderstood (thank you, Department of Unusual Phenomena and Municipal Pigeon Control), our team conclusively determined that a crow has selected you—yes, you reading this—to be its permanent subject of anthropological curiosity, judgment, and occasional sabotage.

Methodology

Our research team, consisting of myself, a disgraced magician named Curtis, and a sentient weather balloon named Brenda (don’t ask), began by planting decoy humans throughout several urban environments: parks, sidewalks, IKEA parking lots. We observed crow behavior in response to standard stimuli such as:

1. walking confidently,
2. carrying snacks,
3. speaking ill of Edgar Allan Poe, and
4. dropping French fries with an air of finality.

Control subjects were ignored. The “you” subjects? Stalked. With vigor. Often with squawks of derision.

To confirm the pattern, we attached small Wi-Fi-enabled hats to 47 crows using the time-honored scientific principle of “They Didn’t Say No.” These hats relayed location, altitude, and gossip data directly to our lab, which was technically just a rented van outside a Waffle House. Brenda the weather balloon handled encryption. She’s surprisingly good with JavaScript.

Results

Let’s not sugarcoat this.

Crows know who you are. They remember your haircut from 2017. They remember the time you stepped on a ketchup packet and pretended it wasn’t yours. They remember the lies you told your dentist. You think you’re private. You think you’re obscure. But a crow somewhere has a dossier with your face on it and a sticky note that says “Suspicious energy.”

Out of 13,452 observed crow-human interactions, 98.7% of crows chose to watch the same person over and over again, ignoring other available humans. The chosen person was typically:

1. making eye contact with street lamps,
2. muttering something about taxes,
3. or wearing a hoodie despite it being 94 degrees outside.

Crows are particularly drawn to those who eat alone in parking lots, scream at printers, or attempt to return fruit without a receipt.

The one person not watched by any crow was a woman named Meredith who claimed to be “psychically invisible.” She also claimed the moon owed her money. The crows stayed away. We respect that.

Discussion

Why you? What about you screams “watch me, judge me, document my flaws in bird ledger format”?

The answer is not simple. It might be:

1. There’s something about you—like the air goes kind of sideways when you walk by. Not bad exactly. Just… like something’s halfway burnt, but no one’s admitting it.
2. You once wronged a crow ancestor in a past life. Possibly by voting for the wrong bird in a community talent show.
3. You exude what Brenda calls “narrative potential.”
4. You owe the Crows. Emotionally, financially, karmically.

Crows don’t just watch. They study. They build theories. They write erotic fanfiction about your most awkward interactions and perform dramatic readings for their flock.

You spilled coffee on your shirt and tried to hide it with a binder? A crow saw that. You tried to pet a cat that hissed and ran? Three crows saw that and reenacted it later using string and leaves. You sang along to a song in public, off-key, and then pretended you didn’t? The crow not only saw it—it added harmony.

Applications and Implications

Our study offers several practical uses:

1. Home Security: Forget Ring cameras. Just ask your assigned crow. They already know who took your Amazon package (spoiler: it was raccoons, again).
2. Therapy Aid: Instead of journaling, scream your feelings into the sky. Your crow is taking notes anyway. May as well save on co-pay.
3. Court Witnessing: In a legal scenario, your crow can testify, although it will demand payment in shiny buttons and dramatic lighting.

A troubling implication: if crows are watching you, and you start watching back, the Crow Spiral begins. That’s when you both study each other so intensely that reality folds inward and you accidentally start a podcast. This must be avoided at all costs. No one needs another podcast called “Murder of One: A Man and His Bird.”

Limitations

It must be noted that the study’s accuracy may have been affected by:

1. A brief interlude in which Brenda joined a weather cult.
2. Curtis’s frequent attempts to train crows to steal sandwiches, which was not part of the protocol.
3. The crow designated as “Greg” refusing to participate unless given a small vest.

Crow Psychology: A Brief Note

Crows are not inherently malicious. They are curious, patient, and vindictive only when slighted. Like librarians, but airborne. Many simply find human lives deeply confusing. For instance:

1. Why do we pretend elevators aren’t just vertical coffins?
2. Why do we say “long story short” and then make it longer?
3. Why do we clap when planes land? Are we that surprised?

One crow, identified only as “Clive,” filed a complaint after watching a man talk to himself in a Walgreens for 45 minutes and then leave without buying anything. Clive wrote: “I demand better protagonists.”

Conclusion

There is a crow watching you right now. Possibly from a tree. Possibly from a wire. Possibly disguised as an unusually judgmental child.

It has opinions.

It has a name.

It once followed you into a Walgreens and out again.

It saw you touch all the grapes and not buy any.

Be flattered. Or be afraid. Doesn’t matter what you do—look up, look down, it’s still there. Watching, always. And hey, if you’re ever sitting in your car thinking no one sees you crying into a sandwich… think again. A crow is watching. Always. Quietly. Eagerly. With notes.

Funding Disclosure: This study was funded by a grant from the Society for Ornithological Revenge and a coupon Brenda found inside a fortune cookie.

Correspondence: All hate mail should be sent to Curtis, who insists he is legally a cloud now.

Upcoming Projects:

1. “The Socioeconomic Impacts of Goose Aggression in Urban Areas”
2. “Was Bigfoot Just a Lost Theater Kid?”
3. “How to Apologize to a Pigeon: A Step-by-Step Guide”

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Sabyasachi Roy is an academic writer, poet, artist, and photographer. His poetry has appeared in Viridine Literary, The Broken Spine, Stand, Poetry Salzburg Review, The Potomac, and more. He contributes craft essays to Authors Publish. You can follow his writing on Matador here: https://creators.matadornetwork.com/profile/e0x59k96/. Craft essays: https://sabyasachiroy.substack.com/. Photography: https://www.eyeem.com/u/sabyasachi13/illustrations