Had a wee scare, this evening, with the minigulls. I was at my computer, chatting on Skype, when the skies erupted with flapping, shrieking gulls. Well, perhaps erupted isn’t quite the right word: there were, after all, only two of them. But they were making enough noise for a whole flock. Curious, I looked out, and noticed the same workmen who’ve cleared away several of their nests, heading off the roof with a big bag. The minigulls were nowhere to be seen. I couldn’t even hear them, which was strange, as they’d been whistling incessantly, all day. It occurred to me that the workmen might’ve cleared them away. I stood on my chair, to peer over the railing, and saw nothing. It hardly seemed possible, that they’d clear away two entire birds — hatched birds, fat birds, squealing and biting birds — but ten minutes passed, then twenty, and they didn’t reappear.
Fortunately, they were simply hiding: at the half-hour mark, their whistlings started up again, and at forty minutes, I saw them. They’re becoming rather hard to miss: they’ve more than tripled in size, and are constantly jumping and pecking and flapping their wings. Most entertaining. I’m glad they didn’t get cleared away.
Feathering up nicely! One can see hints of the birds they’ll become, now, under all that fluff.
One of the adult gulls found a bit of bread, or orange peel, or something. I’m not entirely sure what that was. Both minigulls wanted it, and pursued their parent around, till the treat was gone. They didn’t get any.
Just when I thought the worthless crapbawky couldn’t get any uglier, it stopped by immediately following a mid-afternoon cloudburst. What a sorry-looking creature! How is it still alive? Isn’t it cold, with that great bare patch? It was round several times, today, feeding a peeping flock of wee ones. I suppose it can’t be too uncomfortable, as it’s still reproducing (and quite successfully, by the looks of things). Still, one can’t help but feel a bit sorry for it.
Oh, crapbawky! You’re so ugly. Especially when wet. Dry yourself off, puff yourself up, and pretend you don’t know why everyone’s staring at you.
If the minigulls keep growing at this rate, I’ll have to come up with a new word for them. Maxigulls?
For the first time, since the falcon attack, a northern flicker has visited the garden.
He sits on the roof, with the wind ruffling his feathers, and an alert look in his eye.
Don’t squawk too loudly, little fellow. You’ll attract the falcon.