Arthur Mulkuns looked up at the sky and frowned. As usual, it was a cloudy London day and the dog park was filled with an assortment of pets. But Arthur couldn’t take his eyes off the birds above.
“That seagull looks suspicious to me.”
His Mom cocked her head. She hadn’t been aware that her seven-year-old son knew that word. “Which seagull?” she prompted.
“The one on the edge of the flock, with the daffy way of flying,” said Arthur.
The boy had a point. There was one seagull who circled the flock, looking a bit off. It wasn’t quite as graceful as the others and didn’t seem – how could she put this? – as hungry as the others.
As they watched, that seagull dove towards the ground, then did a long banking turn and landed on the roof of a taxi. The driver had his arm out the window, and he seemed to extend a piece of bread or maybe even a piece of paper to the bird, who grabbed it and immediately took off again.
Instead of returning to the flock, the bird then headed towards the City Centre.
“Very suspicious,” said Arthur.
“Indeed,” said his Mom.