I have to whisper this in case anyone official is listening. About five years ago I worked in a small station on the outskirts of a market town. The back of the nick led down to a river where we often used to watch a heron fishing, we had a nesting pair of tawny owls in the tree by the back door, and on one occasion I arrived in the car park to find one of the sergeants marshalling a line of ducklings down to the river, explaining that the family had been under attack by a pair of magpies and he'd gone out to save them. Mother duck was happily waddling along next to him. I hadn't put him down as the sentimental type, as he was a keen shooter, and we often went stalking together.
He owned a VW R32 which was his pride and joy. It had mirror-finish windows, and one morning he started ranting that a crow had started attacking its reflection in the car windows. To do so it stood on the rubber door seals, and had clawed great scratches in the seals and paintwork.
I came into work one afternoon when he had been on early shift and saw that his gunslip was in the corner of the office. I asked if he was going shooting after work, and he replied that he had got sick of the crow attacking his car and had brought the rifle in to sort it out. He'd baited it with a tuna sandwich and shot it out of the briefing room window!