The Seagull Story
A guy is fishing in the surf near me at about 8 am—something I can’t begin to understand—and after 45 minutes has caught exactly nothing. (I’ve seen one guy in 30 years catch something off a swimming beach.) At his last cast, a seagull descends near his line and then flies off with a fish. The buy packs up and leaves.
Later that day, I’m eating a roast beef sandwich on the beach. I turn to answer a question from my wife and I feel a tug. A gull has descended, hovering like a chopper, and taken a bite out of the sandwich in my hand, squawks and flies off.
At one of the food stands on the boardwalk, a guy’s full-time job is sweeping up spilled French fries so that the gulls, circling overhead and on the roofs, don’t swarm the place.
I imagine the summer is a vacation for the birds, as well, and only in the winter do they have to work to feed the family.