**Please Imagine This Being Read in the Style of Richard Attenborough**
The sun slowly crests over meandering cars on the increasingly busy Westnedge Avenue. The glare indicates the bright, warm day ahead and the temperatures gradually increase toward what is designed to be a rather balmy September afternoon. And keen listeners can just make out the harsh cry of one of nature's most mysterious avian creatures: The Parking Lot Gull.
Okay, so now that the scene is set, let's step back a bit. I had a few errands to run this morning after the kids were carted off to school, but first I was craving some McDonald's breakfast. I haven't had any in a good while, and I figured it was time. Sounded like a good enough reason to me.
I whisked through the Drive-Thru and acquired my goodies, and I realized my next stop was the children's school. I had a few things to drop off but I wasn't about to either eat while driving or eat in the parking lot of said school since the food would likely have gotten tepid by then, anyway. So I hoped over to the Harding's right down the way and parked there. Seemed pretty empty; I didn't relish the idea of some passerby glancing my way as I inhaled my breakfast. Well, it seemed almost empty, for just a few yards away, and approaching fast enough that one might assume that these creatures could sense that food was present, was a flock of Parking Lot Gulls. Now to folks here in the Great Lakes State, this is no surprise; Parking Lot Gulls really ought to be our secondary State Bird. But it's the sheer numbers and repugnance of these flying creatures that flabbergasts me.
As I sat there calmly wolfing down my food, I'd occasionally glance over at these monstrosities. They looked as if they were seconds away from pouncing on me and piercing my jugular vein with their wicked bills. One of them in particular was pacing by my car with such a look of disdain and ire in its eye that I could almost feel it sizing me up. Part of me wanted to toss out a crumb just to see what kind of bloody coup would ensue, but I resisted. I guess I was less interested in a full-on Gull melee than I thought. Every so often a few more Gulls would encroach on the main one's territory, and it would bray at them and flap its wings and they'd back off. I'd be willing to bet that if I were a child, or even outside my car, I'd be Tippi-Hedroned right there in the Harding's parking lot.
But the question remained, as I finally succumbed to the willies and drove off: where the hell do these things come from? Can they really be flying in every day from one of our many large lakes just to feed on potential scraps in store parking lots? Is this what passes for hunting for these crappy birds? What if they go home to chicks at the end of the day, do they regurgitate cigarette buts and french fries into their waiting maws? I have no idea, but something really needs to be done. Especially to the one that was giving me the stink eye.
The sun slowly crests over meandering cars on the increasingly busy Westnedge Avenue. The glare indicates the bright, warm day ahead and the temperatures gradually increase toward what is designed to be a rather balmy September afternoon. And keen listeners can just make out the harsh cry of one of nature's most mysterious avian creatures: The Parking Lot Gull.
Okay, so now that the scene is set, let's step back a bit. I had a few errands to run this morning after the kids were carted off to school, but first I was craving some McDonald's breakfast. I haven't had any in a good while, and I figured it was time. Sounded like a good enough reason to me.
I whisked through the Drive-Thru and acquired my goodies, and I realized my next stop was the children's school. I had a few things to drop off but I wasn't about to either eat while driving or eat in the parking lot of said school since the food would likely have gotten tepid by then, anyway. So I hoped over to the Harding's right down the way and parked there. Seemed pretty empty; I didn't relish the idea of some passerby glancing my way as I inhaled my breakfast. Well, it seemed almost empty, for just a few yards away, and approaching fast enough that one might assume that these creatures could sense that food was present, was a flock of Parking Lot Gulls. Now to folks here in the Great Lakes State, this is no surprise; Parking Lot Gulls really ought to be our secondary State Bird. But it's the sheer numbers and repugnance of these flying creatures that flabbergasts me.
As I sat there calmly wolfing down my food, I'd occasionally glance over at these monstrosities. They looked as if they were seconds away from pouncing on me and piercing my jugular vein with their wicked bills. One of them in particular was pacing by my car with such a look of disdain and ire in its eye that I could almost feel it sizing me up. Part of me wanted to toss out a crumb just to see what kind of bloody coup would ensue, but I resisted. I guess I was less interested in a full-on Gull melee than I thought. Every so often a few more Gulls would encroach on the main one's territory, and it would bray at them and flap its wings and they'd back off. I'd be willing to bet that if I were a child, or even outside my car, I'd be Tippi-Hedroned right there in the Harding's parking lot.
But the question remained, as I finally succumbed to the willies and drove off: where the hell do these things come from? Can they really be flying in every day from one of our many large lakes just to feed on potential scraps in store parking lots? Is this what passes for hunting for these crappy birds? What if they go home to chicks at the end of the day, do they regurgitate cigarette buts and french fries into their waiting maws? I have no idea, but something really needs to be done. Especially to the one that was giving me the stink eye.
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