It was the great clothesline caper.

My mother had hung out the sheets and pillowcases on the clothesline.

Sun-drenched sheets and pillowcases were always a good idea.

It was a joy to sleep with sheets and pillowcases dried by Old Sol. You could smell the sun in them.

Mom and Dad had left me in charge of the farm as they went off to attend a funeral.

Leaving me in charge wasn’t always a good idea.

As he always did, Dad cautioned me to try not to burn the house down while they were gone.

Boy, you burn one house down and you’re branded for life.

The chores were done and I had a little free time before I was scheduled to milk the cows again.

I was in the house enjoying a glass of Tang because it was what the astronauts drank when I looked out the window to see a crow land on the clothesline just above one of the sheets.

My first thought was that the crow would soil the sheet.

My second thought was that I should run outside and chase the crow away.

My third thought was that I should finish my glass of Tang before I did anything else.

My third thought ruled the day.

I watched as the crow, eyeing one of the clothespins, did that birdy tightrope walk down the clothesline toward the clothespin.

I watched the class valedictorian of the avian world to see what he was up to. Crows are so smart that I think they get bored and fall to mischief-making in an attempt to counteract that

boredom.

The crow reached the clothespin. He cocked his head to one side and gave the clothespin a good looking over.

Then he grabbed it with his bill and pulled it off the line.

This caused one end of the sheet to let go of its grip on the clothesline and to fall toward the ground.

This frightened the crow, causing it to drop the clothespin, which I suspect it had planned to purloin, and to fly up into a big oak tree nearby.

It began to caw loudly and shortly two other crows flew into the same tree.

All three of the crows began to caw in unison. It was a raucous crow caucus.

I believe that the two other crows were life coaches.

They were there to talk the crow back onto the clothesline. They were telling him some time-tested wisdom like that if you get bucked off a horse, you need to get right back in the saddle before you lose your nerve.

After receiving the pep talk and encouragement it needed, the mischievous crow flew back down to the clothesline.

He shuffled down the line to the nearest clothespin.

The crow grabbed the pin with his bill and deftly plucked it from its position.

The sheet fell to the ground.

The crow cawed in triumph.

His fellow crows in the big oak tree cawed in response and did the wave.

As this was taking place, I was sipping my Tang.

I had to see how this drama played out. We didn’t have the Animal Planet or the Discovery Channel in those days. We didn’t subscribe to the National Geographic. This was it. I had to watch.

The crow removed every clothespin and dropped each to the ground.

The crow paused after each clothespin withdrawal to utter a victorious caw.

Each time the other crows acted as supportive cheerleaders. They were lacking only in pom-poms.

This series of activities caused each of my mother’s clean sheets and pillowcases to drop to the

ground as well.

Oh, I know what I should have done. I should have set my Tang on the kitchen table and run outside while waving my arms and yelling at the top of my lungs. I should have chased the crow away before he had done this dastardly deed.

I placed my Tang on the kitchen table.

It was too late to do anything but put the sheets and pillowcases back onto the clothesline.

That’s what I did. They weren’t quite as pristine as they were before the crow got to them.

As I put each clothespin back in place, the crows cawed from the big oak tree.

I sat outside by the clothesline until it was time to milk the cows. I didn’t want the crow to perform an encore.

By the time I made it back into the kitchen, my Tang was warm.

My mother never did believe my story that a crow had committed the crime.

(Hartland resident Al Batt writes a column for the Tribune each Wednesday and Sunday.)