Is it a crow? A raven? What’s the right word for a baby one? And, whisper it, are you meant to pick it up?
The morning I learnt the answer, the street was still damp from a light shower. Two adults cawed from a lopsided sycamore, while a smaller bird—soft, puffed, a bit unsure of its legs—hopped between wheelie bins and a low wall. A neighbour leaned out in slippers, coffee in hand, and asked if the “crowlet” was lost. It blinked, wide-eyed, as if the whole street were a new planet. One of the adults dive-bombed a curious cat, then settled on a lamppost, scolding like a parent at a bus stop. “So… what do we call it?” someone asked, half-joking, half-concerned. The name matters more than you think.
So, what do you call a baby crow?
Let’s keep it simple. **A baby crow is a chick.** While it’s still in the nest, it’s a nestling. Once it tumbles out—on purpose—and shuffles around with stubby wings and a short tail, it’s a fledgling. After a few weeks of practice flights and awkward landings, it’s a juvenile until it wears full adult plumage. Those pinkish mouth edges, downy look and rather clumsy hops are the telltale signs.
I watched that street-corner youngster while a passer-by rang the local wildlife helpline. “It’s a baby crow,” the caller said, “but it can’t fly.” The volunteer asked three questions: Are the parents nearby? Is it feathered? Is it in immediate danger? The answers—yes, yes, and no—changed everything. The “can’t fly” wasn’t a problem; fledglings spend days on the ground while adults feed and coach them. It wasn’t abandoned. It was enrolled in crow school.
There’s a lot of pub chatter about ravens versus crows. Ravens are bulkier, with a wedge-shaped tail and a deeper croak; crows are slimmer, with a fan-shaped tail and a sharper caw. The terms for young birds, though, are shared across species. A hatchling is brand new from the egg. A nestling can’t thermoregulate or hop. A fledgling can hop and flutter but lacks range. Not “crowlet.” Not “pup.” Words matter because they hint at what to do—or not do—next.
If you find one: small actions, big difference
Start with a pocket-sized plan. Watch from a few metres away for 30 minutes. Scan for anxious adults on chimneys, wires or branches. If the fledgling is on a road or in the path of pets, lift it gently—with clean hands or a towel—onto a low branch or dense shrub within the same spot. Keep the family’s map intact. The parents are tracking sound, not street names.
The big mistakes are almost always kind-hearted. Scooping it up and taking it home. Feeding milk or bread. Posting a photo before moving it out of danger. We’ve all had that moment when the urge to “rescue” feels like the only kind option. Breathe. If it’s fully feathered and alert, the best help is space, quiet, and keeping cats indoors for a day or two. Let’s be honest: nobody does that every day. One day can save a life.
**Most “abandoned” fledglings aren’t abandoned.** If you see blood, a drooping wing, or it’s cold and unresponsive, that’s different—time to call a rehabilitator.
“If it’s bright-eyed, feathered, and shouting at you, it probably has parents shouting back from a branch,” says an urban wildlife volunteer. “Your job is to make the path between them safer.”
- Feathered, hopping, gaping mouth: likely a fledgling—leave nearby, reduce hazards.
- Naked or mostly down, or fallen from a visible nest: it’s a nestling—return to the nest if safe, or call a rehabber.
- Obvious injury, bleeding, or no adult presence after an hour: contact a licensed professional.
Why the word matters
Language nudges behaviour. Call it a chick, and you think care, not capture. Say “fledgling,” and you picture training wheels, not a crisis. That tiny shift stops unnecessary “rescues,” which can separate young birds from the only teachers they’ll ever have. It also helps you spot real emergencies faster. Somewhere between “murder of crows” and “crowlet,” there’s a clear, grounded vocabulary that keeps wild things wild—and keeps us from panicking at the sound of a perfectly normal caw. **Call a licensed rehabilitator before you intervene.** Share the right word on your street, and watch how the whole mood changes.
| Point clé | Détail | Intérêt pour le lecteur |
|---|---|---|
| The correct term | Baby crow = chick; nestling in the nest; fledgling on the ground; juvenile after first flights | Speaks clearly to rescuers, neighbours, and helplines |
| Reading the signs | Feathered, short tail, loud calls, parents nearby = fledgling doing on-the-job training | Avoids unnecessary “rescues” that harm more than help |
| When to act | Injury, cold, no adults after an hour, or mostly naked chick on ground | Quick, confident decisions that actually save birds |
FAQ :
- What do you call a baby crow?A chick. While in the nest it’s a nestling; after leaving the nest but before strong flight, it’s a fledgling.
- Is “murder of crows” a real term?Yes, it’s a traditional collective noun. It’s poetic, not scientific, and has no bearing on behaviour.
- How can I tell a crow fledgling from a raven fledgling?Ravens are bulkier with a wedge-shaped tail and a deeper croak; crows look slimmer with a fan-shaped tail and a higher caw.
- Should I feed a baby crow I find?No. Food and fluids can do harm. Give space, reduce hazards, and contact a licensed rehabilitator for guidance.
- Will touching a chick make the parents reject it?No. Birds don’t abandon because of human scent. Move it only to remove a danger or return it to a safe perch.
So it’s a chick, not a “crowlet”—got it. Learned more here than in a dozen forum threads. Also love the reminder that fledglings belong on the ground.