A friend received a note in the letterbox over the summer from a harried neighbour, begging for something to be done about the seagulls nesting on the roof and the accompanying racket. Seagulls nest all summer, and as July and August roll into September, the babies are growing and preparing to leave to do engineering in Carlow or teaching in Limerick. They make their presence known by squalling noisily, often at 5am while their parents wheel around the sky screeching and scanning for food.
I can see where the neighbour was coming from. They were being driven demented and I could somewhat relate. I once rented a tiny flat in Fairview that was bedevilled by nesting pigeons under the eaves. Granted, pigeons are not as vocal as seagulls, but there was something about the non-stop low-level cooing that I feared was making me homicidal, so I moved out. I had one foot out the door anyway, because some local scallywags were using my back windows as target practice, but the pigeons gave me the final push me and my glass splinters needed.
I actually like pigeons, though. I wouldn’t go as far as to call myself a pigeon fancier (although what a delightful combination of words), but I see them as plucky, resilient, beady-eyed, mangled-footed erstwhile postmen of the sky. When I wasn’t awake at 4am listening to the cooing and fantasising about poisoning them, I was largely of the opinion that they had as much right to be there as I did. I feel similarly about the seagulls. In his book The Seabird’s Cry, Adam Nicolson describes gulls as “early adopters”. He says that we and the gulls are “cohabitants of the same world, uncomfortably recognising each other, thriving in the same way, failing in the same way, behaving badly in the same way.” They are, like many vermin, just trying to survive in an unnatural world they had no hand (or wing, or paw) in building.
Obviously, I’m not blind to the damage and disease that can be caused by vermin, but when I see a story about a seagull casually stealing a burger or pilfering an ice-cream cone, I do get a thrill. Take Grafton Street for example. A thoroughfare haunted by stolen Big Macs and swooped-on crepes. Anyone openly enjoying a treat on Grafton Street is literally taking their meal in their own hands. If a hungry seagull spots an opportunity, you better believe they’re going to take it. If you could fly, were almost guaranteed escape, and had teenagers at home to feed, wouldn’t you do the same? A couple of years ago a video of a seagull thieving a bag of crisps from a Grafton Street newsagent went viral. You could tell from the resigned exasperation of the shop employee that this wasn’t the first time for either of them. I may be misremembering for dramatics sake, but I’m fairly sure tears pricked my eyes as the gull trotted away with his Rancheros.
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The latest of of many calls for a seagull cull resulted in Minister for Housing Darragh O’Brien signing an order allowing for nest and egg destruction in his Dublin Fingal constituency. Of course I have compassion for those affected but don’t the gulls deserve to thrive? Dublin City Council is trialling seagull-proof bin bags, while suggestions for moving them back to their spiritual homes of the offshore islands of north Dublin aren’t viable. Those same islands are homes to large populations of rats and mink, which is the reason nesting gulls left in the first place. Maybe the Government needs to take a different tack and rehabilitate the seagull’s image. Develop the gull’s brand as a sort of debonair Robin Hood type, stealing from the rich (people with O’Brien’s sandwiches) and giving to the poor (chicks screaming down some poor woman’s chimney).
Urban foxes don’t get half the flak the seagulls get. They rip through bins, they make off with small animals and pets, and when they scream they sound horribly like a human being murdered. However, they are less like to swoop from the sky while doing so, and have dog-adjacent cuteness on their side. They’re much more likely to get a Disney edit than admittedly unattractive seagulls. When spotted in the city centre foxes are usually slinking through the streets with purpose, on their way to lone ranger some ham out of a black bag. They get respect as they slink. You feel blessed if you spot one.
My friend with the beleaguered neighbour didn’t end up doing anything about the seagulls. She was of the same mind as me that they had to nest somewhere. She also has a toddler and infantile screaming of her own to worry about. She barely heard the gulls, and now they’ve likely flown the nest. Godspeed, you hideous heroes.