Category: Birds.

It had now been three months since Sid had entered our lives. During that short space of time, he had tugged on our every heartstring, and lead us along a path of emotional ups and downs. Now, on this cold Winter Saturday night, in the warmth of our flat, it was time to ask and answer some pretty serious questions about his future and make the most heart-wrenching decision of all. When should we release him?
Sid, as per usual, was stood on the roof of his little nest box perch, digesting his mackerel supper, oblivious of the fact that all eyes were upon him, scrutinizing his every move.
Ian, Steve, Jackie and myself spent the evening discussing the pros and cons of Sid’s pending release. Comments were made in an attempt to lighten the mood and remove the worry from our minds. Our thoughts and emotions were pushed from pillar to post, pulled apart in a tug o war between sentimentality, reality, and necessity. After much discussion, a decision was reached. Tomorrow it is then, we all finally agreed.
Sunday, mid-morning, on what must have been the coldest day of the year; with the biting east wind blowing unobstructed across the open water of Chasewater. [a sizeable manmade reservoir, poplar with people and wildlife alike] We stepped out of the car. It was Brass Monkeys weather and then some. I leaned into the back seat of the vehicle, the interior was warm and cosy. I would have loved to have climbed back in, but we had a job to do. We had a Bird to release! Soon, that job would be done and dusted, and we could all get back into the warm. From outside came the sound of stamping feet and words prompting me to get a move on. I reached forward and grabbed the large cardboard box that contained Sid. I was conscientious not to cause him any stress or make him lose his balance. We walked in silence to the water’s edge. The sound of a distant speedboat churning the dark liquid of Chasewater into a milk-white froth as it sped around in a tight figure of eight reached our ears. A Cormorant, disturbed from its preening by the Speedboat, left its perch and flew, its wings lightly touching the surface of the water and its breast dampened by the spray that the wind lifted from off the choppy veneer, to a more secluded position. Great Crested Grebes, in their drab winter plumage, bobbed briefly into view, as the belly of the depression in which they swam quickly rose to become a crest, then sank again. A gaggle of Canada Geese were bobbing their heads boasting about the expertise of their landing in such windy conditions.
I placed the box onto the sand, and slowly, cautiously, one by one, I pulled open the interlocking flaps that had been Sid’s roof. Sounds of feather rubbing the box’s interior, and newspaper being ruffled and trampled under webbed feet indicated Sid’s excitement at being released.
Holding the 4th and final flap, the last barrier between Sid and freedom, I paused. This was it, the time had arrived for us to say farewell to our loveable new friend, Sid. After making eye contact and presenting a faint smile to Ian, Steve and Jackie, I rubbed my watering eyes with the back of my hand, then stood up straight; opening the remaining flap of cardboard as I did so.
The four of us stood a comfortable distance behind the box, looking down into its square interior. Sid blinked as he turned his head from side to side, it was as if he were looking at our faces one last time. We held our breaths in anticipation of the impending flurry of activity to come. But no flurry of activity came, Sid just turned his head backwards 180 degrees and started to preen.
The cold wind was now making itself felt, so this job had to be completed pretty sharpish. I stepped forward and very slowly began to tip the box so that the floor became the wall, and a wall became the new floor. The opening now faced the open water and freedom. Well, that was it, Sid came out of that box, not like a rocket slid on rails as we expected, but more akin to a snail on crutches. He walked out of his means of confinement with all the poise of a Victorian Gentleman exiting a beach hut, then gingerly, slowly, he walked toward the water. We half expected him to stop and test the temperature of his new oversized bath with the tip of his toes, but no, our loveable friend continued, undaunted, until afloat. And what did he do? Bathed, that’s what; dipping and plunging his head underwater, splashing, preening, followed by more plunging of the head, and so it went on.
We couldn’t walk away and leave him to it, we had to watch out for him, make sure that he came to no harm as he settled into his new environment.
Our teeth chattered with the cold, the wind grew stronger and stiffer, but we were determined to see this through.
Sid, now politely referred to as that bird, bathed for two hours solid. Two hours!
We were freezing, but we stayed and watched. During these two windy hours of bathing, Sid had drifted out of our reach, into open water. Now, just as the Grebes were only visible on and off, so was Sid.
Our attention had been so focused on watching Sid that had it not been for the increased droning roar of the engine we wouldn’t have noticed the approaching Speedboat. It was making a Bee-line straight for us. The Helmsman was going to give his two windswept passengers a ride to remember, and us, his audience, a show we’d never forget. He pulled back the throttle, sprays of white water arced out from its bow, its fibreglass belly slapped the water with a thunderous thud. We waved our arms to attract the Helmsman’s attention, we pointed with stabbing fingers at Sid. We were shouting frantically for him to open his eyes and change course.
Smack bang in the middle of all this commotion was little Sid, still bathing.
The shouting and arm-waving stopped, open-mouthed we watched in horror.
Sid didn’t flinch a muscle, he didn’t have time to. The Speed boat veered sharp left meters in front of him. The stern lowered in the water, and the propellers churned the water into a hectic turmoil as the Helmsman levered back the throttle for more power. It departed, the noise lessened, and calmness returned. Only the smell of its exhaust and settling wake remained, and in that settling wake was Sid; no longer bathing.
The incident had startled him into action, his wings slapped the diminishing wake, and his feet paddled and pushed the air as he attempted to get airborne. We willed him on, encouraging him to dig deeper, deeper than he’d dug before, and he dug. We feared that a combination of muscle fatigue and water-logged feathers would bring him down, but he pushed and pushed until his feet no longer left concentric ripples on the surface and his wingtips only beat the air.
He’d made it! He was airborne!
I watched Sid glide the length of Chasewater and land safely on the North Shore amongst a small Colony of Gulls. I watched him until the weight of my binoculars made my arms ache, and I could no longer identify Sid from the Gulls around him.
Sid had returned to his world, we turned and went back to ours.
Farewell, Sid.

Thank you to the Photographers for taking the pics – and thank you for reading.

The end of the working day, home at last. I rang the doorbell, Jack, my wife, buzzed me in. I gently shouldered the outside door open and stepped inside the entrance hall; it was a wonderful feeling to leave the cold winter and the hum and din of traffic behind, it felt as if I was stepping from one world into another. At the top of the first flight of stairs, holding the front door of our flat open stood Jack, the light behind her silhouetted her image. That image will stay with me forever; it was an image that radiated warmth and welcome.
Jack watched me climb the dozen or so stairs until I was close enough for her to speak without raising her voice.
“What you got there, sweetheart?” She inquired, referring to the semi-organised assortment of clothes that I was carrying.
“It’s a Gull, a Herring Gull, and it looks as though he needs a little care and attention.”
“Bring him in, let’s have a look at him.”
Still holding the door open, Jack made room for me to pass. Our eyes met, but we didn’t speak, the expressions of concern etched on our faces spoke volumes.
I placed the make-shift bird nest down onto the carpet, in a place where it wasn’t going to get trodden on or accidentally kicked.
Jack, now kneeling in front of Sid’s hastily constructed recovery nest, started to unravel it carefully. Leaning over the arm of the sofa, I watched as Jack gently and caringly peeled back the last piece of the jumper, a sleeve, revealing Sid.
Sid looked the same as he did when last I saw him as if he’d fallen asleep. As if he was dead.
“It’s not looking good, sweetheart. Get me a cup of lukewarm sugar water and a deep spoon, please.” Said Jack.
I did as requested and then watched as Jack dripped a few drops of the sugar water onto Sid’s pink pointed tongue. It was heart-wrenching to see the feeble desperation with which he attempted to lap at the warm, sweet liquid.
Jack changed Sid’s bedding, making sure that he was clean and dry, then every hour she moistened inside of his beak with warm sugar water.
We spent the evening chatting about the moral issues involved with my actions, of which, there were many. The main concern was, were we prolonging the bird’s suffering. No, we weren’t, was the decisive answer. Sid was in that lovely place between life and death; he was beyond feeling any pain, nor did he care if he lived or died. How do I know? Because I’ve been in that beautiful warm place that I now call death’s waiting room! The natural will to survive, to hang onto that last remaining thread of life was now his only hope. Playing God is a role that I wouldn’t put on anyone intentionally or otherwise, but, as we all know, that time eventually comes and confronts us head-on, shredding our principles to pieces, and pulling our emotions from pillar to post. Are we meant to turn our heads, pretend we’ve not noticed, and shy away from deciding to help the helpless, whether it be a bird, dog or human-being? The long and short of the situation is that I interfered with nature; I played God. The consequences of which is, that Sid is now with us. We must give him every chance to live.
Days past, how many, I can’t remember, Sid’s condition remained the same, but we continued the routine of trickling droplets of warm sugar water onto his tongue. Every morning I expected the worse, the inevitable, to discover that that last thread had snapped. But no, his little tongue kept searching out the offered water, his swallowing was getting stronger. And then, one evening, entirely by accident, a small miracle happened!
We were using a small, blue plastic measuring spoon to transfer water from the glass to Sid’s beak. It was an elongated oval shape and held a tablespoon of liquid. Well, Jack held the spoon while I used my thumbnail to open Sid’s beak, but I accidentally dunked the tip of the beak into the water. What happened next amazed us both; there was a visible ripple on the surface of the water, Sid was drinking!
Sid was still panned out, his neck muscles too weak to support his head, which was rested against a fluffy towel.
Jack and I watched as Sid drank, it was a heartwarming moment, that’s for sure. We looked at each others smiling faces; our beaming smiles were broad, broad enough to get crumbs in our ears, broad as a Chesire Cats. Still smiling I looked down at Sid, it looked as though he was sleep drinking; then the drinking stopped, stilling the water’s surface and smoothing the snow-white feathers of Sid’s throat that had moved with each gulp.
The smiles vanished from our faces; Jack removed the tip of Sid’s beak from the spoon; then straightening her back, and looked at me. I looked at her, then we both looked at Sid. Experiencing and sharing the same emotions as each other, we both moistened our eyes with blinks, that prevented the brimming tears from escaping down our cheeks.
Before Jack could fold the towel over Sid’s body, the smiles returned to our faces. I thought that the corners of my mouth were going to meet on the back of my head. Sid had opened his eyes!
High fives didn’t exist back then but had they have done; I’m pretty sure the clap of our meeting palms would have resonated for miles around.
Below are a few recent photos of Jack, with little Smudge, and Kracker her favourite horse.

Jack, with her little pal Smudge
Jack, doing a butterfly count
Jack, saddling Kracker up, ready for a plod

Part Three of Sid The Seagull will be available soon, stay tuned. Bye for now.

I started to write this post as a means of lifting my spirit and perking up my mood. I wasn’t depressed, I was just in one of those melancholy lows, you know the sort, the lows that go hand in hand with crappy weather.
The grey cloud of the January sky sank so low that only the nearest oaks were visible; everything beyond these was hidden by a claustrophobic cloak of depressing, damp mist. The weather really was that crappy. But, since that day, the weather, like my mood, as picked up. Ok, it’s not tropical out there; but the grey sky as lifted enough to give us a little more head-room, and I can see yonder woods. Yipee!
This change in weather conditions also encouraged a Blackbird and a Song Thrush to sing; hearing the songs of these two birds lifted my spirits, but not as high as the thought and memory of Sid lifted them.
As you know, there is no such species as a seagull. But for most of us, seagulls do exist and are a crucial factor in our memories’ of childhood holidays by the sea.
Jackie and I have cared for several sick or injured birds over the years; All are memorable, but Sid stands head and shoulders above all in our hearts and minds, he was a fighter and a character who won the hearts of all who met him.
Unfortunately, I have no photos of Sid, I have only these memories that I would now like to share with you.
Nottingham, England: The very thought of this City conjures up images of evil King John, the Sheriff Of Nottingham, and of course that hooded rascal Robin. But did you know that Nottingham was originally named Snotingham? Apparently so. The original settlement was named after the Saxon Chiefton Snot. It was William The Conqueror who later had the S removed. Centuries later, with the Castle in ruin, the myths and stories of chivalrous goings-on covered by the dust of time, I found myself in Nottingham, delivering a small generator to a customer. I was instructed by my Boss to stay local and collect the generator later that same day.  This arrangement suited me fine because I had my Dad was with me. He loved his days out on the road, and I loved having him with me. He would make bacon sandwiches the night before I picked him up. At the last possible moment, he would add a dash of brown sauce, then wrap them in a bread wrapper. There was something old school, very much Dad, very much home, about this simple offering that made it special. This little parcel of delight would be opened, and the contents, eaten cold later in the morning.
With the generator safely delivered, we found ourselves a quiet spot overlooking the River Trent and parked up. The cold dark water of the Trent flowed slowly through the semi-industrial sprawl of this historical city, Its surface rolled and churned as if simmering. Leafless trees lined the banks, some planted intentionally, others, self-sets, gaining a foothold wherever they could.
Daybreak, although grey and murky, brought detail to our chosen spot. We saw feral Pigeons take to the wing, rising from their roost into leaden grey gloomy sky. A steady passage of Black-Headed Gull’s slowly followed the river’s course, patrolling for food. Two Magpies hopped with intent, amongst the branches of a tree, also searching for food. Their chattering calls were clearly audible. Somewhere distant, unseen by us, a Storm Cock sang.
Unbeknown to us, we were parked next to a children’s play area. At this time of day, at this time of year, the chances of anyone turning up to play were slim, so we made comfy and settled in.
Dad and I sipped at our coffee and tucked into our bacon butties, even cold, they smelt good and tasted even better. We tickle-tackled about all and nothing, generally enjoying the moment and each others company.
There was a large paddling pool to our right,  empty, except for a few puddles of Winter rain, a collection of brown, brittle leaves, and a couple of empty crisp packets. A bitterly cold wind rippled the puddles of water. The leaves and litter, blown by the chilly wind, slid noisily across the turquoise coloured concrete floor as if the dead themselves were blowing them. The two Magpies now hopped and chattered excitedly on the paddling pool wall. In turn, One or the other would occasionally drop from sight, into the empty pool. Something had got their attention. I had to investigate.
I quickly briefed Dad as to what I was up to then exited the Landrover Discovery. Instantly, the bitter wind made my muscles tighten as I felt its rawness on my face. The two Magpies high-tailed it back into the nacked trees, scalding me with raucous calls, and bobbing their long tails in disapproval of my presence. I reached the paddling pool, a dog walker returning to her vehicle, opening the boot for her Springer Spaniel to jump in was the only sign of human life. I looked down into the paddling pool. I saw the body. I bunny-hopped the small wall into the empty pool and crouched next to the lifeless form. It was a Herring Gull! Dead or alive, I didn’t know, but early signs were not encouraging. Using my right hand to support the bird’s body weight and my left hand to support its head and neck I lifted him from the ice-cold puddle. He was colder than a block of ice, his feathers were soggy, and judging by the sharpness of his breast bone he’d been without food for some time. His eyes were closed, I couldn’t feel a heartbeat, he was lifeless. Was I too late? Was he dead? I used my thumbnail to prie open his beak, I needed to see the colour of the inside of his mouth. Had it been a grey/blue colour, this would have indicated shock, but, as it happens, it was pink, dangerously pale, but pink. It was while I was carrying out the preliminary checks that I saw his tongue move in an attempt to swallow. I allowed a few water droplets from my fingertips to enter his mouth. Feebly, his tongue moved in response to the life-giving liquid. He swallowed! He was alive!
Dad had been watching from the Discovery and had already prepared a recovery station using his jacket as the base and an old jumper as the inner wrap. From the sheltered side, I leaned into the Disco (Discovery) and placed the patient carefully onto the nest of soft, warm clothes, and gently wrapped him up.
We spent the rest of the day monitoring the bird, keeping him comfortable, and the bundle to make sure that it didn’t become damp.
We had found Sid.
We made the short journey home to Cannock. It was time to introduce the patient to my dear wife Jackie.
We didn’t live in a large country house with acres of rambling gardens, no, we lived in a one-bedroom apartment just off the town-centre. It was in front of the exterior door of this apartment, holding a bundle containing Sid that I now stood, waiting for Jack to buzz me in.
Well, that’s how we found him. If you are interested to discover more about Sid Watch this space.
Thank’s for reading.