One More Day

Well that's the "undelete" button pressed.  Let's start with Hello.  This is what I do - fall in and out of love with social media, and rebel against regularity.  Well I'm here now.

How are you?  How am I?  I have been cross and upset with the world. 

Ironically, my very first post mentions nuisance behaviour by seagulls...

However, I wonder if the bad press they get, is actively encouraging certain dubious people  to be purposely unkind and physically abusive towards them.  I know they are a problem, but that doesn't make cruelty towards them acceptable.  Here's a  little 'story' I wrote.  It's a bit rambly and won't mean much to anyone.  Except me.

One More Day 

The tranquillity of the street was only slightly disturbed as he tumbled gently down from in between the chimneys.   Though not quite awake and rather bemused, he landed safely in Anna-May’s front yard.   Anna-May was taking her afternoon nap.  No-one was around to witness the startled but proud ruffling of feathers.   Anyway, people being people, they would have been too swept away in their mob-like hatred of seagulls to care - nevermind appreciate - another ‘nuisance bird’ miraculously defying the odds and surviving the first ‘flight’ from nest to ground.  In a heartbeat, however, mother bird was at his side.  One of two highly attentive parents, she was alerted by a difference in his incessant call.  The echo effect possibly being caused by the metal cat house that he had fallen next to.   She knew that the infrequent inhabitant of the said cat house was not going to be a problem.  Darcy was well used to the yearly feather–ball arrivals from up high and, in his superior feline opinion, they were too big to waste his energy on. 

 “Better late than never” the mother bird thought, as she directed an amused but comforting squawk towards the tottering bird.

********************

 Her other chick had made contact with the ground a full two months earlier.  She had to admit though, as she smoothed her own feathers, that this had been far too soon and her nerves had not yet quite recovered.   This, together with a poorly leg, made the rearing of two ever hungry chicks quite a task.  Nevertheless, she had carried out her feeding obligations with more devotion and dedication than many human parents.  As she went about her daily routine, she was oblivious to the fact that someone else was monitoring the progress of that first fluffy ball of a chick.

Anna-May had an almost perfect view of the growing baby bird over on nextdoor’s flat roof.   A cleaner kitchen window would have helped, but decent photographs were possible if she climbed onto the work surface to view him through the top pane.   She named him ‘Egbert’, and spammed her family Instagram followers with his developmental feats.  

As the weeks went by, Egbert got bigger and so did his mess.  Understandably, nextdoor moved him to a nearby field.

*******************

Awaking from her nap and spying the young seagull at the front of the house, Anna-May thought it was Egbert.  That he had wandered through from the field, to be close to the chimney and nest from which he had dropped two months earlier.  Although concerned for his safety so close to the traffic in the street, she decided she did not want to cause distress by placing him back in the field.  A decision she came to regret.  

It made her sad.  He was fine one day, limping the next.  Anna-May needed to find out why.  She checked back on the cctv camera.  The rage she felt on seeing the grubby white minibus drive over him was immeasurable.  It was obvious that the driver had full view of the bird as he drove up the hill.  Obvious that he had done this on purpose.  Although having retreated from cringy social media as much as a business person can these days, Anna-May had an overwhelming desire to post the despicable footage on every networking platform in existence.  She was stopped by her resignation to the fact that humankind may well be human but it certainly isn’t kind.  Basically, no-one would care.

*******************

The realisation that the injured bird was not actually Egbert did not ease the emotional trauma very much.   The unmistakable call of a young seagull drifting through the workroom window at the rear of the house and the subsequent mini trek around the church buildings with hubby, gave proof that an unlimping Egbert was still healthily in situ.  She named the bird at the front of the house ‘L.B.’.  She had become too fond of both birds.

Despite an injured leg, ‘L.B.’ had survived the first manic driver.  Adjusting and adapting as he practised his hardest to learn how to fly. 

 One more day. 

 One more day and he would have done it.  

 With a breaking heart and hate for the world, Anna-May checked out the grainy image she’d seen during a quick scan of the cctv camera.  All that feeding by the mother bird, all that protecting by the father bird, all that practising to fly.  What for?  Another manic driver. Stupid man, stupid people.  He drives so fast with his music blaring.  He doesn’t know... he didn’t see all the work that nature did.  He doesn’t care.  No-one cares.   

~ Fly high always L.B. ~