The Gull

I hate seagulls. I guess I've always hated them, I don't know why. Perhaps it's because they are noisy and graceless except in flight.

They are the state bird here in Utah. There is a monument to the seagulls on Temple Square, the only monument to birds in the world, or so I've heard. It's against the law to kill or harm one, like killing a bald eagle, only on a state level.

The summer after I graduated from high school, I landed my first good paying job. My two best friends and I became garbage men, or "Refuse Collectors", as the job announcement said.

We walked along behind the garbage truck, hefting the cans and emptying them into the crusher. It was hard, hot and dirty work, but it paid better than any other job we might have landed.

Some of our customers liked to do their own automobile maintenance; some to save money, and some because they wanted the job done right. There were no recycling areas then, and they simply disposed of the oil by putting it in old milk bottles and setting it out with the rest of the garbage.

When the crusher caught one, we were treated to a drain oil shower, courtesy of a tightwad. We soon learned not to wear good clothes.

If you keep picking up garbage and compressing it, the truck will get eventually get full. When it did, we jumped in the cab with the driver and proceeded to the dump.

The dump we patronized was a landfill operation. A huge trench was dug, and we dumped the garbage into it. Once it was full, it would be covered over and another trench dug. No mystery here.

Enter the gulls. Gulls are scavengers, and great clouds of them would always be found at the dump. Squawk, squawk, squawk. The racket never ended. Gulls will eat until they puke, and then go back and eat some more. All this eating generated droppings, and they weren't too picky about where they dropped them.

I guess it was just a matter of time before we began throwing rocks at them. Ever try to hit a seagull with a rock? Mission Impossible. Gulls can dodge rocks like deadbeats dodge bill collectors, only faster.

Of course, being high school graduates and all, this only served as a challenge. Every time we went to the dump, we lobbed rocks at the seagulls while the driver emptied the truck into the trench. It helped pass the time.

By summer's end, we could hit any and every stationary target we chose at any range up to thirty yards or so. I had also developed a deep and undying desire to kill a seagull. Despite the many opportunities and the throwing skills we had grown, nobody had succeeded in hitting one.

I think I'd long since given up. It simply couldn't be done. I'd been throwing rocks all summer, and never even come close to hitting a seagull. I kept on doing it because it was now a habit. It was just what you did while you were waiting for the truck to empty.

When I finally did connect, it was a complete surprise.

By now we knew that when the seagull saw you throw, it flew straight up, so we started leading them. On the fateful day, I selected the target, aimed about a foot high, and launched my granite missile. The gull dodged it as it always did, but another bird that I hadn't seen also lifted off right behind the intended victim. The stone struck this second bird right square on the head, and it fell back squawking piteously.

I was as if struck by lightning from a clear sky. I never expected to actually hit one, and now as I had to listen to its plaintive cries, I felt guilty. I'd hurt it, and badly.

To my horror, every other seagull at the dump took off. There must have been several thousands of them, and they flew around in great circles, a huge white cloud of squawking birds. Their fallen companion lay mortally wounded on the ground, screaming for revenge.

I was dead. I had committed a mortal sin, and I was about to pay the price. I ran aimlessly in circles, looking in vain for someplace to hide from the deadly feathered cloud that was about to descend and kill me. There was not so much as a cardboard box to hide in, not that it would have done any good. I fell to my knees weeping in fear, covered my head with my arms, and waited for justice.

The angry horde came down, not on me, but on the poor gull that I'd hit. When they lifted off again, there were only bones and bloody feathers left.

We never threw rocks at seagulls again. When college started that fall, I enrolled in an electronics class. Whatever my future held, I knew I didn't want to be a garbage man.

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