MEL BUTTLE

“Seagulls are the used car salespeople of the bird world”

Have you ever watched birds? I don’t mean on one of those expeditions where you have to wear a vest and hide in a bush all day. More just observed birds as you pass them by? I took some time to run my eye over a few of our suburban birds, so to quote from my Year 9 science report, here are my findings.

Seagulls are the used car salespeople of the bird world, they’re forcefully persistent with a never-say-die attitude. Sometimes I swear, I can smell the Drakkar Noir on these birds as they approach. I’d be keen to let them know that they’d be more successful with their goal of acquiring chips if they tried some less intense tactics.

Seagulls are top-level manipulators, I must admit, I’m impressed when they pull the one-leg-tucked-up trick. That’s pretty smart for someone with a brain that size, to work out that looking different and vulnerable to humans might get you some extra chippies.

I reckon seagulls have become more brazen than I remember as a kid. When I was little they’d hang back from the table, squawking loudly, but keeping their distance, like charity collectors in shopping centres. Seagulls have evolved, it’s like they’ve been reading Brene Brown, and now they’re full of confidence and self worth. Seagulls now fly directly on to the table, and march right up to your fish and chips, wings out ready to fight you for your calamari rings. Moving from the sea to the city now, ibis have to be hungover people, they’ll eat anything, they’re always moping on a city bench surrounded by burger wrappers or with their head in a bin.

Magpies could be middle-aged men, they’re not always keen on cyclists; magpies are mostly nice but will fly off the handle in the months that coincide with the end of footy season. Sulphur-crested cockatoos are mums on a night out, loudly reciting a few key phrases over and over again to anyone who makes eye contact. In a large group raucously screeching to their friends, like mums they always have seeds and fruit on them, and live forever.

Rainbow lorikeets are drama students, chortling loudly to each other, hanging around trees on university campuses in a big group, carrying on with stuff that’s only funny to them. They’re outgoing and dazzling, but they won’t all make it on the television.

Pigeons are either owned by a man called Derrick who races them, or they’re waddling around the city in everyone’s way. For animals who can fly, they sure love to walk on the ground. They’re rarely in a rush to get out of your way, with little fear of their surroundings. Pigeons are in groups clogging up the pathways in the city, pigeons are tourists.

Crows are those people at parties who correct you by saying things like, “Actually echidnas are monotremes.” You know those people who aren’t great to talk to, but have super-niche skills like fixing your car radio? Crows are those people who get science degrees, but can never seem to land a job.

Crows are really smart – if they were a bit more aware of their public image, they’d stop having their morning meetand-greets at 6am and perhaps win themselves some new friends.

Crows are know it alls.

So once again, to draw from Year 9 science, in conclusion, maybe it’s time for me to buy a vest, some binoculars and find a shrub to hide in. It seems I may have become a birdwatcher of sorts.