The special talents of Aldous Huxley are absent, the special talent of Barbara Cooney wasted, in this small story of a crow couple who protect their unborn progeny by tricking a marauding snake with clay eggs; in his discomfiture, he ties himself up in knots and ends his days as a clothes-line for the growing crow family. If the plot is inconsequential, the details are ridiculous, especially the self-winding snake and the would be mother who lays an egg regularly every day. This started as an entertainment for a favorite niece and it still sounds homemade.