The murder of crows gathers in small groups... watching... waiting... for what must seem to them to be the perfect moment.
One by one, they fly in... deliver a short hypnotic speech, then proceed to pick at the ice that has formed on the sheep's backs. Once loosened the ice is plucked from the sheep and carried off to the tree tops.
This has become a somewhat bizarre morning ritual, and has prompted the questions...
Are they thirsty? Hungry? Or could this peculiar behavior be caused by their fondness of dog food?