A Murder of Crows and an Unkindness of Ravens Is Better Than a Charm of Finches

Let’s not kid ourselves: whoever was in charge of naming groups of animals was either halfway
into their third bottle of mead or a whimsical poet with a superiority complex and too much time
on their hands. Because really, what else explains the linguistic tomfoolery of calling a group of
Crows a Murder, a group of Flamingos a Flamboyance, and a gathering of Jellyfish a Smack?
This isn’t science. It’s performance art.

Let’s begin with the old familiar classics. A Murder of Crows—yes, we’ve all heard it. It’s
delightfully ominous and makes you feel like Alfred Hitchcock is about to round the corner with a
camera and a screaming blonde. But who looked at a few scrappy black birds hopping around a
parking lot and thought, “You know what this needs? A felony charge.”

An Unkindness of Ravens? “Unkindness?” That’s not just dramatic; that’s petty. Sure, ravens are smart and a little smug, but unkind? Maybe they didn’t text you back. Maybe they mocked your outfit from a telephone wire. But they’re not pushing your grandma down the stairs. At worst, they’re just emotionally distant.

Then we get a Charm of Finches. Oh, how sweet. That’s just begging to be embroidered on a decorative pillow. But have you ever actually heard finches? They are not charming. They're nervous little peeping machines and annoying. A group of finches sounds like an anxiety attack set to bird song. If anything, they should be called a twitch of finches.

Have no fear friends. It gets better!

A Business of Ferrets. Yes, of course. Apparently, when ferrets get together, it’s all very professional. There are little briefcases, PowerPoint decks, and heated debates about Q3 performance perhaps. Never mind that ferrets are basically furry chaos noodles that exist solely to knock over your potted plants and disappear into your HVAC system. But it's all done professionally - strictly business. 

A Conspiracy of Lemurs. These ring-tailed primates are surely planning to overthrow our republic. To be fair, if any animal were to start a shadow government, lemurs—with their expressive eyes and twitchy little hands—would absolutely be involved. Probably from Madagascar, because naturally they’d want plausible deniability.

And of course it could be nothing but a Flamboyance of Flamingos. I mean, yes, that tracks. You’ve got a hundred bubblegum-pink birds standing around on one leg in shallow water like they’re auditioning for a Vegas revue. It's less of a wildlife scene and more of a Cirque du Soleil dress rehearsal. But then things take a sharp turn into the utterly deranged...

A Bloat of Hippos? Someone really leaned into the obvious here. Hippos are bloated. They look like oversized river sausages. But still—it’s not polite. We don’t go around calling a group of dads at a barbecue a bloat (though maybe we should).

This one is great - a Crash of Rhinos. Apt. Rhinos are essentially prehistoric tanks with bad eyesight. A group of them isn’t so much a social gathering as it is a demolition derby with horns. A crash, indeed.

And then we have a Mischief of Rats. You can practically see them rubbing their tiny hands together. This is one of the rare instances where the group name perfectly captures the vibe. Rats are shady. They are up to something. And that something probably involves wires and crumbs.

A Shiver ain't just for "me timbers mate", a Shiver is are a group of sharks and that will make you shiver for sure. Elegant. Poetic. But let’s be honest—it’s the kind of word choice that tries to make you forget these things are literal swimming nightmares. “A shiver” sounds dainty. As if the great white is offering you chamomile tea and not planning to take a test bite out of your leg.

A Prickle of Porcupines. Who names these things? Honestly. “Prickle” sounds like a minor inconvenience, not a full-body armor system. You don’t "prickle" your hand on a porcupine. You
impale it and then drive yourself to urgent care while reevaluating your life choices.

A Cackle of Hyenas. Aren't they Kamala's favorite animal? Okay, Just kidding - actually I'm not. That’s spot on. Hyenas sound like someone just told a joke in hell. They don’t bark, they don’t howl—they laugh, but not in a fun way. More in a “we're about to eat your face” kind of way.

A Gaggle of Geese sounds cute—until you meet geese. A gaggle of geese isn’t waddling sweetly through a meadow. Calling a syndicate of this splenetic species a “gaggle” is just a polite way of saying sociopathic honking fowl that won't hesitate to attack you if you look at it wrong. 

My favorite of all - a Parliament of Owls. Very refined. Very academic. But let’s not forget that owls are solitary night assassins with rotating heads and zero sense of humor. The only legislation they’re passing is whether or not to swallow a vole whole.

And in case you were wondering if the madness extended to insects: yes. A group of Ladybugs is called a Loveliness. LOVELINESS. That’s not a scientific term—that’s a Hallmark greetingcard. Meanwhile, a group of Locusts (actual crop-destroying, plague-level menaces) is called aPlague. So... sometimes we do get it right.

Need more? How about a Skulk of Foxes. Clearly foxes are always sneaking around plotting heists. To be fair, this one’s kind of perfect. Foxes look like they know secrets about you that even you don’t know. They’re the smug woodland cryptids of the animal kingdom. 

A Dazzle of Zebras shall we? I'd say Lisa Frank named them but the zebra's lack of color makes me second guess that. Zebras are just stripey donkeys trying to avoid being an entree for the King of the Jungle. 

And how cute can a Kindle of Kittens be? This is the cutest oxymoron of them all. A “kindle”? Like a glowing warmth? Sure, until you try to trim their claws or feed them late. Then it’s less “kindle” and more “fury tornado with whiskers.”

So what have we learned from this deranged tour of animal group names? Well, mostly that English is not a language. It’s a prank. It’s a living museum of confusion built by people who loved metaphors more than accuracy. And while some of these group names are weirdly poetic we still have a Murmuration of Starlings? 

But if I had to choose I’d take a Murder of Crows and an Unkindness of Ravens any day over a
Charm of Finches. Why? Because those birds have character. They show up, feathers ruffled,
voices raspy, and say, “We’re not here to be cute. We’re here to haunt your cornfield and mess
with your trash bins.”
And honestly? That’s the kind of energy I can respect.