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Forget the Celebrities: Read about MY Crazy Life
My CRAZY Life: The Seagull
While my wife, Breda, and I were on holiday in Portugal recently, a strange thing happened, something that I am still trying to come to terms with…
It was a hot day and I was lying in bed, enjoying a welcome rest after a busy few hours shopping for all those tacky souvenirs we feel so obliged to bring home and distribute amongst close family and friends. The sliding door to the balcony was open, allowing a welcome breeze into the hot apartment.
I was really enjoying our week’s holiday, without a care in the world. But then I saw him, staring into our apartment with his beady, piercing eyes!!! I sat bolt upright in bed, looking at our unwelcome voyeur who seemed oblivious to the fact that he was encroaching on my privacy.
“Look,” I whispered across to Breda, “see what’s looking in through the door.” Carefully approaching the door, Breda looked out to see what all the fuss was about. And when she saw it, she too was amazed at the sight of our uninvited guest, squatting on the balcony wall no more that three feet away from us.
“It’s a seagull,” she exclaimed in excitement. “He must be hungry - give it something to eat,” she urged. “Like what?” I asked in defiance of her suggestion to give a wild bird food.
“I don’t know,” Breda replied, “”Try some crisps - there’s a bag of them over there.” She pointed to a stool by the dressing table.
Pulling myself out of my wonderfully soft bed, I sauntered over to the stool and grabbed the said bag, which the seagull immediately spotted, letting out a cry of excitement over the prospect of receiving some free food.
“Look at him, the poor thing, “said Breda. “He’s hungry.”
And he was. The very second I threw a crisp out through the doorway he swooped onto the floor of the balcony to retrieve it.
“It must be starving,” Breda exclaimed. “Give him another,” she ordered.
I did. I gave the bird another crisp, then another and yet another, but he just kept on coming back for more. In the end, the seagull consumed the entire bagful of crisps. It was eerie. It was weird. It was frightening. The more food that we gave the bird, the more he wanted - and the closer he came!
“It wouldn’t be looking for more if it weren’t hungry,” Breda insisted. What else can we give it?” she asked, looking around the small kitchen area of the apartment for anything palatable.
“No,” I shouted, “not my Mars Bar!”
But my words fell on deaf ears, and the greedy bird scoffed the bar in two seconds flat, after which it let out a loud burp of contentment.
“It burped!” I said in disgust.
Giving me an odd look, Breda replied, “Seagulls’ can’t burp.”
“This one can,” I assured her. Just then, the greedy bird set its beady eyes firmly on me. I received a look that said, “It’s you next, matey!"
“That’s the bird from hell,” I cried struggling to close the patio door as quickly as I could. “It’s jammed.” I shouted. “It won’t close!”
Her attention having now moved on from the seagull, Breda asked, “What on earth has gotten into you?”
“It’s after me,” I spluttered. “It’s going to eat me…”
“What is?”
“That, that bird,” I replied as I tried yet again to close the patio door.
“What bird?” Breda asked with some concern
“That one,” I insisted, pointing out through the door after finally managing to close it.
“There’s nothing out there,” Breda replied as she looked onto the balcony and tried to open the door.
“Don’t let it in,” I implored, convinced of the bird’s carnivorous capabilities.
“I can’t keep something out, if it’s not there,” my wife replied sternly. Then she asked, “Have you been drinking?”
“No!” I insisted, “You were with me all morning - you know that!”
“Hmm,” she replied. “Well, something’s gotten into you…” Wrestling the door opening mechanism away from my trebling fingers, Breda opened the door, and said, “Take a look, will you? Now will tell me, can you see any bird?”
I looked out, and replied, “No. No, I cannot.”
Scratching her head in frustration, Breda asked, “What type of a bird did you say it was, anyway?”
“A seagull, and a big one at that,” I replied with a renewed vigour.
“Well, I can’t remember it - I really can’t,” Breda insisted. “But having said that, I have no explanation for all this…” Waving an arm, my wife presented the floor of the balcony for my inspection. And when I saw it, I was as confused as her, for the floor, the entire floor of the balcony was covered in bird sh..
You can email me with your thoughts and comments: email me
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© Gerrard T Wilson 2008
