Nothing to Lose Read Free

shielding my head, and screaming as it flew right at me.
    I must have looked at Morgan because I have a clear memory of seeing surprise and then horror on her face. I know I saw her drop my cup of hot chocolate and her bird net. Then I saw her turn, still holding her extra-large latte, and run away. Thanks a bunch.
    With my free hand, I swung at the seagull with the long handle of my bird net. Here’s something you might not know: seagulls are exceptionally sturdy birds. When I swiped at that gull—and, bird lovers, I swear it was self-defense—I was astonished at how solid its body was. On first whack, nothing happened. Then it dropped to the ground and lay motionless on the pavement.
    My first thought:
Way to go, Robyn. You dragged yourself out of bed before the crack of dawn to rescue birds and what do you do? You club one to death.
    My second thought:
This seagull really
is
the Terminator
. Because just as I breathed a sigh of relief (sorry again, bird lovers), lowered my net, and turned toward the little bird, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. The gull was stirring. Its broad wings fluttered and it righted itself. I looked back at the little bird trembling on the concrete beside me. It had fluffed out all of its feathers, maybe because it was cold or maybe because it was trying to look bigger than it actually was to scare off predators like the gull and (as far as the little bird was concerned) me. I raised my net slowly and lowered it quickly over the tiny creature.
Easy
, I thought.
    Then something struck me on the shoulder. The gull squalled around me, flapping its wings and screeching. You don’t realize just how big and hard and sharp-looking a gull’s beak is until it’s right in your face. And do you know what’s at the end of those big seagull feet? Big, sharp seagull toenails. And they were right in my face.
    I threw my hands up to protect myself. My net was still lying on the ground, the mesh part of it covering the little bird, which sat perfectly still. Maybe it was frozen in terror. Or maybe it felt safe under the net—I don’t know. I looked down at the little creature that I was supposed to be saving and then up at the larger, screeching creature that was preventing me from carrying out my mission, and I got angry.
    Very angry.
    I flailed at the gull with both arms and screeched back at it: “Shoo, shoo!”
    Then I heard a screech behind me: “Grah, grah!” I turned and saw Billy coming toward me at a dead run, waving his net. Morgan chugged after him, still clutching her extra-large latte. She hadn’t deserted me after all. She had gone for reinforcements.
    â€œGrah! Grah!” Billy shouted again. I followed his lead. We were two supposedly sane people, dancing in the early morning darkness, shouting ourselves hoarse until the seagull finally gave up and wheeled away.
    â€œThanks, Billy,” I said.
    â€œGulls can be pretty aggressive,” he said. “I read about a seagull in Britain that killed a dog. And there was another story about a woman who had to go to the hospital because a gull attacked her and its beak was embedded in her skull.”
    I thought he was kidding, but he looked completely serious.
    â€œOne time,” he said, “I saw a gull walking down the sidewalk—
walking
—doing exactly what we do when we come out here. It was looking at the bottoms of buildings for dazed or hurt birds. Some of those gulls are pretty smart.”
    â€œWell, that gull was going after this little guy.” I pointed at the dazed bird beneath my net.
    Billy called to Morgan and asked if she had any paper bags in her backpack.
    She handed one to him and they crouched down together on the cold concrete. I stepped aside and let them worry about transferring the little bird from my net to the brown paper bag. They made a pretty good team: calm and competent Doctor Billy and his faithful, if squeamish, assistant Morgan.