Fleeing the Flock

He seemed young, eager, curious—and quite alone. His brethren covered the sands of the beach in front of him while all around him were picnickers, joggers, dog-walkers, cyclists, children, seniors. Yet no one noticed the lone gull walking through the grass of the park.

Gulls are common in my neighborhood and we have at least three different varieties. They fly to park benches where immigrants feed them, they stand guard atop light poles at busy intersections, they soar above treetops and dive deep into the lake. But they never—I mean NEVER—light upon the grassy spread used by sunbathers and ballplayers.

Now here was an explorer. He watched people as he walked. Sometimes he'd come in contact with something on the ground that would unsettle him and he'd stretch his wings out, fluttering them a bit to regain his balance. He made me smile.

I watched him for a while. Had I encouraged him, I think he might have come close to me. But that would be a bad dynamic for his future. He couldn't depend on people for his survival.

I admired his spunk—his boldness in going where no gull had gone before. How can people not notice such a brazen act of nonconformity? How can people go to a park shared by dozens of species of birds and plants but focus only on their tan lines or cellphone conversation or workout time?

I'm grateful to have seen the gull. I'm concerned about how much I don't notice in the world. I want to absorb it all. 

Are you seeing everything around you? 

How to Make Everybunny Happy

Today's morning walk with the pooch included this observation from a neighbor—a 40ish-aged man packaging a 12ish-aged boy—who makes observations in lieu of conversation:

"Too bad they don't make buggies small enough for her to pull. You could fill the buggy with bunnies and everyone could have a good time."

Actually, my dog LOVES bunnies. Whenever she spots one, she stands statue-like while her entire body twitches in anticipation. From a safe distance, she watches until her anticipation gets the best of her. Then she springs into a single jump intended to shoo the cottontail away (though often this doesn't work the first time and she has to spring again). Once the diminutive creature is on the move, so is my pooch—to sniff every inch of ground it had crossed.

That's it. No chasing, no hunting, no scare tactics (except for the spring in the air that took her a while to develop). She just watches and sniffs.

So pulling a pack o' bunnies in a buggy may very well be a good time—if not for all, at least for her.

Overheard While Walking My Dog

As a pod of bicyclists came toward us, one looked up at the 19th-century stone church to my left and called out, "I've always liked this church. God DAMN that's a pretty church!"