After more than 25 years of living in landlockedküstenfernlandlocked Bavaria, one of the things I enjoy most about being back in Scotland is the sound of seagullSeemöweseagulls. Whenever I hear gulls “laughing” or “chattering”, a feeling of happiness washes over me.
I love hearing the seagulls calling down the chimney. The cries and squawkKreischensquawks fall loudly into the room from the roof, two floors above me. I imagine they’re using the chimney like a telephone to order a takeaway, “Can I get a pepperoni pizza and a Diet Coke?” they shout.
I grew up in a village on the cliffs in north-east Scotland with only 26 human residents. We, the people, were completely be outnumberedin der Minderzahl seinoutnumbered by seabirds, and their calls surrounded us all the time.
We even had a “pet” seagull by the name of Willy. The top of the garage roof was his favourite spot. From there, he had a good view of our dining room, and he would land on the window ledgeFenstersimswindow ledge as soon as we sat down for a meal. Willy would usually wait patiently for leftovers – fat from a piece of meat, a few chips or the last spoonful of baked beans. Sometimes, though, when he was very hungry, he would peckpicken, hackenpeck at the window and droolsabbern, verschmierendrool all over it.
“Give the bird some bread, for heaven’s sakeum Himmels Willenfor heaven’s sake!” my dad would say. One of us would get up and throw Willy bits of torn-up bread, which he skilfully caught – sometimes mid-air.
Seagulls are the Labradors of the sky
Once, when my mum was feeding him some leftover mashed potato (UK)Kartoffelbreimashed potato from a teaspoon, he grabbed the spoon with his beakSchnabelbeak and swallowed it whole. Willy seemed unharmed when he turned up for his next meal, and we found the spoon in the garden later that week. He’s probably the only gull in Scotland to have returned cutleryBesteckcutlery.
Growing up the way I did, it’s not surprising that I have a love for gulls, but not everyone feels the same.
“Why do you hate seagulls?” I ask my friend. We’re sitting outside a pub at Portobello Beach, just outside Edinburgh. From where I’m sitting, I can see a gull hover over sth.über etw. schwebenhovering over a table, its wings outstretched, its webbed feetSchwimmfüßewebbed feet dangerously close to someone’s panini.
“They stole Amy’s sandwich out of her hands! She was just wee. She was traumatized.”
“They’re the Labradors of the sky,” I say, trying to defend them. I have a Labrador who once grabbed a muffin out of a child’s hand, so I speak from experience.
I could never bring myself to hate gulls. They may have no respect for food boundaries, but when I see them soarhochfliegensoaring overhead or wake up to their calls, I know I’m home. Some people need peace and quiet to feel settled. Me? I like a seagull laughing down my chimney.
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