I tossed the remaining potato chips on the ground near my van. The sudden seagull stood guard nearby and said “quack quack.” That’s where this story started: I was intrigued by his opening observations. Seagulls are well known for their sleep shattering screeches and less for their more subtle quacks. This gray crumb beggar, this bi-avian polymultiomniphage definitely said, “quack quack.” He/she (I don’t know the difference, and I’m not sure they know without checking) quacked twice, just like a duck.

In an effort at inter-species cordiality, I echoed, “quack quack” back to the seagull. Fortunately, no one overheard this little Dr. Doolittle dialog. I don’t think anyone was listening.

I was enjoying lunch near the Ballard Locks. I was reading Sandor Marai’s most excellent “Memoir of Hungary” and had read a few passages in which Marai writes that the reason he must leave his Russian occupied native land is because he has lost the freedom of silence. That’s an interesting idea: He would be forced to write or speak the party line rather than remain silent and ‘write for his desk drawer.’ So I explained this concept to my new-found feathered friend.

The seagull, sideways eyeing his snack, succinctly said, “quack quack.” I could not determine whether he agreed with Sandor Marai on the issue of one’s freedom to remain silent (or lack of that same freedom) or whether he wanted me to move my van away from his potato chips.

Two sincere quacks from a solitary seagull are a modest improvement over the glassy eyes and low moan that would have met my Marai remarks in most pubs. Those attempts usually screech to an uncomfortable silence immediately followed by the emergency “Did you see the game today?” Or, “It certainly was cold today for it being spring.”

I depart quietly and quickly.