Belly Laugh

 It was the beginning of the world opening up after a year of Covid 19 lockdown. During lockdown I often went to the duck pond to pass the time and get fresh air. I liked watching the ducks there. 

“They help me keep things in perspective,” I told my friend. “I watch them, really see them. They have their own duck culture and by observing them closely it slows me down and gives me a mental rest,” I explained. “It’s like nestling into their feathers for siesta,” I chuckled.

But on this particular occasion when I was there, a lone seagull was among the Mallard ducks. He caught my attention because he was floating all by himself, he looked out of his element among the brethren of green heads milling about on the other end of the reservoir. 

‘What’s going on, Mr. Seagull?’ I empathized to myself. ‘Got left behind?’ I told Sheila mimicking the voice I used that day.  “He wasn’t really swimming, more floating really. At first I didn’t think too much of him because as I busy pouring out my heart to the ducks. But I kept an absent eye on the gull – he had an odd paddle but I was too busy in my head to pay close attention. But after a while it struck me that I didn’t see his second webbed foot working under the water.”

I had Sheila’s full attention. 

“Mr. Seagull veered to dry ground but had to wave his arms to balance himself to walk through the rocky creek bed because one foot was entirely missing.” Her eyes were steady in concentration. “He got to a large flat open spot so I could see clearly he had an orange leg to the ankle but no foot. No toes, no webbing, nothing. A stick. He continuously flailed his wings to balance himself and didn’t look too happy.”

“What were the Mallards doing?”she asked.

“They were drifting over a lazy ripples in the deep end while others were on the grass, with their heads twisted around in their shoulders napping. They didn’t care about the seagull, they just left him alone. There was no blood or gore but he kept twitching the twiggy stump. I was so worried I called the conservation officer.”

“And what’d they say?”

‘The gull will be fine,’ Roz put on her deep man’s voice. ‘They’re tough birds, and if he got this far, he’ll adapt.’ Roz went back to her normal voice. “He didn’t seem very compassionate but I couldn’t get the bird floating in circles out of my mind before I saw his foot.”

 At that very moment the penny dropped. For Sheila too. A deep merriment exploded  from both of us and we howled for five minutes. That’s why he was swimming in circles. We giggled intermittengly for the next fifteen minutes. It was the first genuine mirth since Covid.

But the real gift was when the picnickers, all packed up by now, came by to thank us for restoring their faith as it was so good to hear that kind of laughter again.