If you spot a single black bird perched on a telephone wire, you are looking at a crow. Simple enough. But if that bird is joined by a dozen of its loud, cawing friends, the linguistic landscape shifts dramatically. You are no longer looking at a “flock.” You are witnessing a murder of crows.

The English language is notorious for its quirks, but few corners of our lexicon are as delightful—or as bizarre—as “terms of venery.” These are the collective nouns specific to certain groups of animals. We don’t just have herds and packs; we have parliaments, exaltations, unkindnesses, and crashes.

But where did these terms come from? Are they legitimate linguistic classifications based on biological behavior, or are they merely the fossilized poetry of medieval elites? To understand why we have a “business of ferrets”, we have to travel back to the 15th century and open a very specific book.

The Book of Saint Albans: The Gentleman’s Handbook

The explosion of these collective nouns can be traced back largely to the year 1486 and the publication of The Book of Saint Albans. Often attributed to Juliana Berners, a prioress and noblewoman, this text was essentially a handbook for gentlemen. It covered the three pillars of aristocratic leisure: hawking, hunting, and heraldry.

In the Middle Ages and early Renaissance, language was a gatekeeper. It wasn’t enough to know how to hunt a boar; you had to know how to speak about it properly. Using the wrong term was a social faux pas that marked you as a peasant. If you referred to a group of roe deer as a “herd” rather than a “bevy”, you revealed your lack of breeding.

These terms of venery (from the archaic French yener, meaning to hunt) were “shibboleths”—linguistic passwords used to distinguish the “in-group” (nobility) from the “out-group” (commoners). The sheer specificity of the list suggests that while some terms were widely used, others were likely invented just to make the test harder to pass.

Linguistics or Poetry? Decoding the Categories

From a strict linguistic perspective, English generally defaults to generic collective nouns. We usually use “group”, “bunch”, or “lot” for inanimate objects, and “herd” or “flock” for animals. The terms of venery break this rule of efficiency. They favor specific semantic flourish over utility.

When we analyze the terms found in the Book of Saint Albans and subsequent lists, they tend to fall into three fascinating linguistic categories.

1. Morphological and Onomatopoeic Descriptions

Some collective nouns function almost like adjectives; they describe the physical shape or the sound of the group. These are the most logical terms.

• A murmur of starlings: If you have ever heard the low, rumbling sound of thousands of starlings wings beating in unison (a phenomenon known as a murmuration), this term makes perfect phonetic sense.
• A gaggle of geese: This mimics the noise the birds make. However, note the linguistic precision: they are only a “gaggle” when on the ground. When in flight, they become a “skein” (referencing the shape of a length of yarn or thread).
• A knot of toads: This describes the visual appearance of toads clustering together.

2. Anthropomorphic Projection

This category includes terms that project human societal structures or personality traits onto animals. These are often ironic or humorous.

• A parliament of owls: This dates to the reference of owls as symbols of Athena (wisdom). However, there is likely a satirical edge here. Owls sit still, look grave, and do very little while appearing to be important—much like a governing body.
• A school of fish: This actually comes from the Dutch word schole (meaning a troop or crowd), but the English homonym makes us imagine fish sitting in a classroom, creating a delightful double entendre.
• A business of ferrets: Ferrets are busy, frantic creatures. The noun characterizes their “work ethic.”

3. The Abstract and Poetic

These are the crown jewels of terms of venery. They don’t describe what the animals do, but rather how the animals make the observer feel.

• An exaltation of larks: Larks fly high and sing beautifully. Looking at them lifts the spirit—it exalts the viewer.
• A murder of crows: Crows are scavengers. Historically, they were spotted circling battlefields or picking at the dead. They were viewed as dark omens, hence the association with “murder.”
• An unkindness of ravens: Similar to crows, ravens were viewed with superstition. An old folklore belief stated that ravens pushed their young out of the nest to survive alone, making them “unkind” parents.

The Humor of the List

It is important to note that the medieval authors were not devoid of humor. The lists in the Book of Saint Albans didn’t stop at animals. They applied the same linguistic logic to people and professions, often with biting wit.

The text lists a “superfluity of nuns” (implying there were too many of them), a “doctrine of doctors”, and a “fighting of beggars.” This confirms that the list was never intended to be a dry biological taxonomy. It was a word game—a way for the English feudal classes to amuse themselves with the flexibility of their language.

Are These “Real” Words?

A common debate in linguistics circles centers on the validity of these terms. If a biologist is writing a paper on owls, they will almost certainly say “a flock of owls” or a “study group”, not a “parliament.” Does a word exist if it is only used in trivia games?

The answer lies in the distinction between prescriptive and descriptive linguistics. A prescriptivist might say, “Yes, these are the correct terms because the book says so.” A descriptivist might argue, “Nobody actually uses ‘a cete of badgers’ in natural conversation, so it is archaic at best.”

However, language has a way of resurrecting itself. In 1968, James Lipton (host of Inside the Actors Studio) published An Exaltation of Larks, a book that revitalized interest in these terms. Because of that revival, terms like “murder of crows” and “pride of lions” have re-entered common usage. They survived because they are evocative. They make language more colorful, preventing our sentences from becoming gray and utilitarian.

Modern Venery: The Game Continues

The most exciting aspect of terms of venery is that the game isn’t over. English speakers are constantly inventing new collective nouns that follow the same “Saint Albans” logic—combining description, humor, and social commentary.

In the digital age, you might encounter:

• A click of photographers (onomatopoeic)
• A flush of plumbers (humorous/functional)
• An annoyance of telemarketers (emotional/descriptive)
• A thread of emails (visual)

Whether you view them as snobbish medieval gatekeeping or beautiful linguistic poetry, terms of venery showcase the playful soul of the English language. They remind us that words are not just tools for transferring information; they are toys for us to play with.

So, the next time you see a group of crows, don’t just see a flock. Acknowledge the murder. It adds a little bit of drama to your day, and keeps a 500-year-old linguistic tradition alive.