Gull Lover’s Travails.
I have nothing against animal rights, nor indeed against those who wish to be nice to all things great and small. Provided they aren’t wasps (pointless animals if ever there were any), but on the whole, niceness to animals is a good thing and should be encouraged. Banal, unthinking sentimentality, however, is a different kettle of obsolete metaphor.
There are seabirds aplenty in Sunderland. Possibly as many to humans as there were Zulus to Welsh Guards in Zulu. Some of these live around my flat (often waking me up by banging their silly heads against the window), and it’s not uncommon at this time of year to see very young ones, who’ve yet to pass their flying test and still waddle around on the ground a lot. The smaller ones are quite cute, in a strikingly ugly sort of way.
Recently, there have been a couple of these waddling about along my garden path. But somebody in one of the lower flats appears to think that they’ve been orphaned, despite the proliferation of older birds that appear to be keeping an eye on them (giving you the impression, every time you pass by the young ‘uns, that they’re going to remake The Birds on yo’ ass if you so much as think about harming junior).
In a move which might make conclusion jumping a new Olympic sport, this person has put a box outside the front door, and set inside it an old blanket and some straw. And a nice little bowl of water in case it gets thirsty. Aww, how sweet!
Yes, the thought is quite lovely. It’s just a shame that that was the person’s only thought (possibly the only one for a long time). And because this person could not realise that it was clearly being looked after by other birds, I now have to negotiate my way past a box on my way out, avoiding seven shades of seagull shit into the bargain, whilst also making sure that I don’t stand on any of the little darlings in the process.
The morbid irony of it, is that to the neighbourhood cats this might be like a new KFC opening. I’m hoping this won’t be the case.
