What follows is a an accurate recount of events as they unfolded one Saturday afternoon sometime in mid August.

It was surprisingly hot for this time of the year and after checking and rechecking the contents of the refrigerator numerous times it was confirmed- it was empty. The cupboards shared a similar fate but fortunately the roadhouse was open. It was the only choice for this time of the day as all other venues bad been frequented for the week.

Besides a change of dietary prescription was required.

Arriving at Grillo’s Ranch, I turned right, Dropping into first gear I gently eased my way up the lane only to be blocked by half a dozen or more gulls fighting over the carcass of a cheeseburger left to rot on the tarmac. The squabbling continued seemingly unaware or unaffected by my intentions to drive up the lane- till I hooted.

Visibly upset the waring parties separated- albeit slowly. Throughout the retreat the cheeseburger was kept in tight focus. The intention to pounce and perhaps grab a tender strip of cheese, possibly choke down the last remaining chunk of meat.

A brief respite followed. Order taken, I settled down listening to the radio.

The waiter was still in spitting distance when the knocking began. Initially I turned towards the passenger door only to find no one there. Then I realized the knocking was from underneath the vehicle. I could feel the knocking through my shoes.

Instead of driving past, I’d parked over the cheeseburger.

The battle for the cheeseburger had taken on a whole new dimension, Not only did the vehicle now cover it, the heat of the exhaust was slowly destroying the burger. The latter did not sit well with the gulls that drew the line at medium to rare, the more rare the better.

Now united by a common goal, the gull car bombing raids began!

With the feathers still burnt and smoking from the exhaust, the gulls took turns at dropping their load of smoldering stomach acids and a partially digested roadhouse menu. In a matter of minutes, I had fallen victim to no less than five direct hits - two of which landed squarely on my windshield. As the accuracy of the strikes improved I was forced to close my window.

Thankfully, the waiter arrived carrying my order. Without hesitation, I attempted to vacate the lane before falling victim to any further abuse. But it was not to be.

As I reversed back, an older more experienced sea gull noticed I’d left my back window of the pick-up open…

(Real life stories from Bushy)