MY GULL

Waves rocking the sailboat made it feel like I was back in a bassinet some 50-odd years ago, so it was next to impossible to open my eyes on Saturday morning.  When I finally shook the cobwebs from my head and walked up on deck around 9:30 AM, she was there...patiently waiting for me behind the boat.

I didn't know how long she had been there, but I knew I had to do something about it.  She expected it.  As I peeled a big, fat Florida orange, I quickly realized I would share it.  She swallowed the first few bites whole in what appeared to be a fit of hunger.  After the fourth throw, she no longer wanted any more orange pieces and let them slowly sink into the clear turquoise sea.

I learned a lot about My Gull that Saturday morning.  Richard, Captain of the fine sailing yacht named 'Angel,' informed me that My Gull was a migratory Atlantic Seagull, which meant she was only here from December through March.  The Atlantic Seagulls are the true snowbirds of South Florida, as opposed to the Blue Hairs from New York, who travel 30 MPH in the far left lane of I-95 during the winter months.  On the other hand, the Laughing Gull, commonly referred to as the Bahama Seagull, aggressively goes for the gusto when it comes to feeding time.  After all, this IS their territory.

During our time alone that Saturday morning, My Gull learned about all my work challenges.  She was an attentive listener and offered much support.  Since I figured Richard was tired of hearing my endless 'work talk,' My Gull became a willing sounding board.  I became calmer as I finished telling her all my woes.  Soon, I started singing to her.  She seemed to enjoy it, as neither wing flapped to indicate that she was thinking about escaping.

Suddenly, crackers appeared magically on the steps leading to the galley below.  Richard was probably trying to distract me from singing.  He said, "Give it to the bird.  She'll love it, and other birds will come."  I didn't think that was possible, as we were in the middle of nowhere with not another wing in sight other than My Gull's wings.  She was still positioned behind the boat and listening to god-awful sounds emanating from me that could not be mistaken for music by anyone else.

Oh,  how she loved the bits of crackers. I had thankfully stopped singing at this point but then started a monologue about nature versus nurture. I knew it would be impossible to nurture all this nature, but I made the best of it. Suddenly, the sky erupted into utter chaos, with wings flapping everywhere as birds jockeyed for position to catch the next crumb.

The Bahama Seagulls caught cracker crumbs in mid-air at lightning speed.  They weren't shy about coming close to the boat.  Not one crumb reached the water.  Living on a small Island in the middle of the Atlantic creates a limited food supply; hence, aggressive eating.  My Gull was passive compared to these raging, ravenous birds, but I ensured she got her share.  After the last crumb was consumed, the Bahama Seagulls disappeared as quickly as they appeared.

My Gull, ever faithful, remained.  Somehow, this solitary seagull knew to wait for me that Saturday morning.  She knew I would feed her.  She did not need to hang out on the pristine, mangrove-filled island of Elliot Key, where her fellow seagulls lived.  She was perfectly content to be My Gull.  

Yeah, I'm talkin' about My Gull, My Gull, My Gull...



1-26-07

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