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Lurch1962
09-24-2007, 05:27 PM
Raaaid's sea gull post brought back some memories of my years at a weather station co-located with a DEW-line site in the Arctic (latitude 70 degrees)...

Gulls would hang around outside the kitchen windows, waiting for the inevitable scraps to fall their way. One of the Yanks (from the South) always traveled with a bottle of Tabasco sauce. We loaded up a slice of bread with a good dose, balled it up and chucked it out the window. It was gulped down in short order by the meanest bird in the squabbling horde. After about a minute it began to pop its beak open in a rhythmic way, looking increasingly distressed. Then it was off to the nearest ditch for a lengthy drink.

Another time we tossed out leftover ribs. One gull gamely tackled the biggest bone. It took a while, but eventually there it was, easily visible through its neck from crop to craw.

One day we were in a particularly mischevious mood, and tied two pieces of meat on the ends of a length of twine. Needless to say, two birds got a chunk each almost before they hit the dirt. Then we gave the flock a scare to get them airborne. Standing out because of their jerky gyrations was the winged bolo.

One windy day I soaked a piece of bread in vodka, and tossed it to the one and only gull waiting at the usual feeding trough. After quaffing it whole, it continued to await more treats. Several minutes later it began to visibly wobble and totter, and eventually decided to fly off. After a couple of bounces into the ground it continued in a more-or-less fixed direction, but with many deviations in altitude and azimuth.


This was back in the mid-80's. I like to think I've matured a tad since then, and wouldn't do stuff like that now.

--Lurch--

Divine-Wind
09-24-2007, 05:31 PM
Originally posted by Lurch1962:
One of the Yanks (from the South) always traveled with a bottle of Tabasco sauce. We loaded up a slice of bread with a good dose, balled it up and chucked it out the window. It was gulped down in short order by the meanest bird in the squabbling horde. After about a minute it began to pop its beak open in a rhythmic way, looking increasingly distressed. Then it was off to the nearest ditch for a lengthy drink.

[...]

One windy day I soaked a piece of bread in vodka, and tossed it to the one and only gull waiting at the usual feeding trough. After quaffing it whole, it continued to await more treats. Several minutes later it began to visibly wobble and totter, and eventually decided to fly off. After a couple of bounces into the ground it continued in a more-or-less fixed direction, but with many deviations in altitude and azimuth.
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