Animal Rescue

The View from Me: Seagull in Flight

Moving to the country has had a number of blessings, many of them surprising. For example, not once in four years have I had to chase a raccoon out of the garage. They keep to their part of the woods, and I keep to mine.

My parents, who moved from the country to the city in 1995, often say that there’s more bloody nature in downtown Toronto than there is in rural Ontario.

As in all things, there are pros and cons to this arrangement.

Take seagulls.

In our old neighbourhood, seagulls were common. They hung out in the schoolyard and in the park, doing their part for the environment. Cocky and fearless, it was not unusual to see one casually stalking a youngster down the sidewalk, waiting for him of her to drop something edible. I've never seen that here, and you know what?

I miss seeing them.

I miss the beautiful white and grey of the gull. I miss the cheeky expressions on their faces. I miss their presumption.

Then one day last spring I looked out the kitchen window late one evening and saw a single gull standing on the grass under our maple tree. He was a small one, but fully fledged in his adult colours. He stood on our grass like he owned it, as if he’d always been there and it was my fault I’d never noticed him before.

He was standing very still, so still, in fact, that I began to wonder if he was hurt. I’d heard horror stories about scavenger birds getting caught in fishing line and plastic beer can sleeves. I’d once found a dead gull on the beach at the cottage, beak trapped in the pull tab of a pop can. Bleeding heart that I am, I began to fret. I watched him for about five minutes, and when he still hadn’t moved, I realised I was going to have to do something to help; there was no way I was going to leave him there for the coyotes to nab him.

I took a large towel from the closet, slipped on my shoes, and stepped out the door. When the gull didn’t react to the sound of the door opening, I knew I had a very ill creature on my hands. What if it was really bad? Did I have the courage to euthanize this poor bird?

Moving slowly, I approached the seagull. He was younger than I’d thought, his colouring more grey than white, and he was, oh, so still. Had he been hit by a car and was too stunned to defend himself? I was now only three metres away and this was getting really weird. I mean, that bird was not moving at all.

A gust of wind curled around my legs. All at once, the plastic bag which had been doing this magnificent seagull impression, skidded and twirled across the grass.

There’s a reason you have glasses, you twit, I told myself. Now go put them on.