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July 7, 2014 / Andee Frizzell

For The Birds

seagullJack and I were heading home from the Canada Day fireworks when we witnessed a heinous accident.

The parties involved; a black, sleek Mercedes verses a seagull. Having received no injuries, the Mercedes speed off into the night leaving the stunned seagull flopping around helplessly in the middle of the street.

Jack rushed into the on coming traffic, flagging them to stop while I scooped up the dazed creature in my jumper and took him back to the safety of the adjacent sidewalk.

Falling immediately into my First Aid responder mode, I barked out orders to Jack while I gingerly assessed the animal’s injuries.

“Call the ER animal hospital number, it’s in my phone contacts, and have them send an ambulance.”

“This number is for Vancouver. I don’t think Ontario has that type of service.”

“Then call 911. They can connect you to the right department.”

“Babe, I’m not sure if this situation constitutes as an emer…”

“CALL!”

Jack lovingly obliged me, like he often does when I’m irrationally hysterical about something nonsensical, (like periodically fluffing the pillows on our couch, the necessity of having a bed skirt, putting down the toilet seat) even when he believes it’s futile.

The 911 operator connected Jack to a wildlife service that informed us to leave the bird roadside and that they would come and collect him in an hour or so. I was not leaving my patient. I insisted that they come to our house to get him.

I made a bed for our guest out of an empty corona box that I had lined with towels and outfitted with a water bowl, just incase. It was 10:30pm and Jack headed off to bed.

I sat with Jonathan Livingston Seagull, whom I had named, stroking his feathered head, whispering to him that all would be well, vocally visualizing for him his recovery and the joyous reunion that would take place when he was eventually reunited with his flock.

And the clock ticked…ticked…ticked. At 3am, I was a little more then worried. I was convinced Jonathan was suffering from internal bleeding and was dying. I called the number in hopes to expedite the ambulance’s arrival with no such luck.

Finally, at 3:30am the vet arrived wearing a vest, embroidered with the logo Wildlife Removal service.

After assessing his injuries the ‘vet’ declared that Jonathan was fine and euthanasia wouldn’t be necessary.

“You were going to kill him?”

“Yes,” she looked at me like I was daft, “That’s what we do.”

Noted, I deleted that number from my phone. I crawled into bed, exhausted and emotionally spent. I slept for two hours then got up to teach my 7am yoga class.

As I made my way, groggily, towards where my bike was locked up, I noticed it was totally COVERED in seagull shit.

No good deed goes unpunished.

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3 Comments

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  1. arcticgoddess / Jul 8 2014 6:09 am

    I suspect that Seagull was part of the Seagull mafia and had been ordered out on a hit. That the hit was on him, was beside the point. The other seagulls were just sending their tribute to you for saving that winged paisan.

    • Andee Frizzell / Jul 8 2014 3:58 pm

      I like where your story is going…mafia seagulls…The Gull Father….hahaha

  2. arcticgoddess / Jul 14 2014 7:52 pm

    Sounds like a great movie. 🙂

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