On Less Than Perfect Parenting And Avian Ingenuity

Spoiler alert. It was not a one-off.

Early June and the weather remained fair. Quite unusual for this part of the world and very much welcome. There’s something particularly wonderful about waking naturally to bright sunlight and warmth.

07:00 hours. I heard cawing. I also heard squawking. Wincing at the latter, I tiptoed to the window and surveyed the rooftops. Crowmum and Crowdad to the right, feathers puffed up, clearly unhappy. Gull to the left, alternately eyeballing them, then the wall. Clever little devil. Not just a smash-and-grab opportunist, he’s figured out that food arrives here regularly. Good food. Tasty and nutritious.

The constant screech of a rusty gate hinge was coming from the car park every 3 seconds. I adjusted my viewing angle and located the source. Fledgling gull. Ohhh. My nemesis might actually be a she. Regardless, her offspring is bloody annoying. He followed his parent around, shrieking with hunger and full of expectation that she would share. This particular parent appeared to have decided that fledging meant the end of table service.

I decided to delay birdie breakfast in the hope that Gull might get bored and push off to seek sustenance elsewhere.

By 08:15 hours the gull had gone. The fledgling hadn’t. He was still in the car park, emitting an ear-piercing noise at the rate of around 17.6 screeches per minute. I know because I counted. I am now clinically unwell. Tom might have been right about the crazy thing. It was like listening to a feathered air raid siren, and with each passing minute my desire to go outside and throttle him increased. It drilled through my brain until I could barely think.

Headphones in, I cranked up the music until the noise was drowned out. My phone informed me my volume level was dangerously loud. Whatever. I inwardly mumbled something about ‘bloody technology dictating how we live our lives’. I realised I sounded like my mother.

I decided to risk it and put some food out for the crows. Tock-tocking my way outside to let them know it was on the way, armed with fat balls and a new shiny silver trinket, I scanned the rooftops for signs of gulls. Nothing. Relaxing a little, I started placing breakfast along the wall.

Instantly, I was aware of displaced air and the gentle ‘whump whump’ of wing beats. Gull. I live on the coast, I know that noise well. Arms flapping and shouting ‘no, get away!’ I jumped around, looking like some mad pyjama-clad ninja doing the river dance. Badly.

The gull landed, slightly to one side of me, and stared me down. Alert, but unafraid. Prepared to wait it out. Possibly prepared to fight if necessary.

I pocketed the trinket and retrieved the bigger pieces of food. I had to admit defeat on this occasion. Again.

Returning home I shot the air raid siren a look that could kill, while Gull laughed loudly and got stuck into the remaining food.

I decided she needs a new name.

Karen.

I spent some more time researching corvid and gull intelligence and habits. It became clear that a new strategy was needed. The birdie buffet was too accessible. Gulls are apparently very intelligent. Perhaps not quite as smart as the crows, who can use makeshift tools to find food, and can work out complex puzzles. But they’re certainly up there in the avian IQ stakes, with excellent pattern-matching talents, the ability to recognise human faces, and an uncanny knack of knowing what time dinner is served.

Their one weakness is that they need a flat surface large enough for them to land on.

Crows, on the other hand, are masters of agility and able to land accurately on the most slender and awkward of perches.

So I just needed a bird feeding station that the gulls couldn’t land on. Not an easy task in a first-floor flat. But I do have a side window in the kitchen that’s out of sight of Karen’s usual perches, and close enough to the wall that the crows might be persuaded to use it.

Alrighty then. Cue birdie buffet Mk2.

The kitchen window ledge was made as inviting as possible. Peanut butter fat balls, a few pistachios, and a couple of shiny silver trinkets to attract attention. I leaned out and ‘tock-tocked’ to let the crows know of the new location, then retreated back behind a line of potted herbs that I hoped would screen out any signs of human activity.

The crows waited patiently on the rooftops, looking at the wall. Karen was nowhere to be seen.

The day passed. Disappointed, I gathered the untouched buffet and returned it to the sacred fat ball cauldron for tomorrow’s attempt.

This continued for a couple of weeks, until one morning I woke to find Crow sitting on a garage roof, directly opposite the window, within 6 feet. Perfect! If I set up the buffet now he can’t not spot it. I slid up the bottom sash. The sound spooked him and he was off like a shot. Damn.

‘Tock-tock’. I placed the food on the ledge. Arranged the trinkets neatly.

Flump. Patter patter.

Karen appeared on the garage roof.

No.

No, no, no!

I was torn. I didn’t want her to know of the new location, but I also wanted to see if it really was gull-proof. So I closed the window and waited. I didn’t have to wait long. I mean, 10/10 for effort. She couldn’t land, for sure, but she could point and flap and sort of aim her beak in the right direction. Most of the food got sent floorwards. At which point she just landed on the ground and got stuck in. I felt an unexpected wave of anger. My face hardened and my pulse quickened.

This. Means. War.

I made a coffee and returned to my bedroom to sulk, and to brainstorm ideas to outsmart the gulls. The first sip was blissful. I relaxed a little as I picked up my pen. Then the air raid siren started up outside again.

I launched the pen across the room in a fit of pique and reached for the headphones. So it’s going to be that kind of a day….