I knew everyone was in for a rough time when the crows went quiet. It’s baby bird season here in Portland, Ore., and a family of crows and their fledglings have taken up residence in the yard. The babies have fuzzy heads and make flying look like hard work. Their call sounds like they’ve swallowed a kazoo; it usually ends in a strangled garble as their parents stick food down their beaks.

I stopped hearing them Sunday. It was 100 degrees by noon; even before that, the fledglings had their beaks open and their wings out, and were panting rapidly to cool themselves. I didn’t know crows could look so miserable.

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