Once upon a time, in the sandy sprawl of Rehoboth Beach, there waddled two seagulls with ambition in their eyes and a hunger in their bellies. Larry, with his uncanny ability to sniff out peanut oil from miles away, and David, the silver-tongued winged wonder of Delaware, were on a mission of utmost importance: Operation Thrasher’s Fries.
The day was young, and the boardwalk buzzed with the promise of sunburns and sandy sandwiches. But for our feathery duo, only one thing sizzled in their minds—golden, salty, freshly fried potato fries.
“There it is, Larry,” David squawked, eyeing the steam wafting from the back of Thrasher’s, where the best fries in the world were rumored to be born.
Larry’s nostrils flared, “I can almost taste them,” he said, salivating at the thought.
But they weren’t the only seagulls with this fry-fantasy. A gang of greedy gulls loomed nearby, eyeing the duo with a mixture of envy and hunger.
“No time for dilly-dallying, David,” Larry nudged his bold buddy. “Do your thing.”
With the confidence of a peacock and the swagger of a penguin, David flapped towards the boardwalk. He spotted his mark: a little girl with pigtails holding a bucket o’ Thrasher’s finest.
David put on his most charming display, puffing his chest and doing the dance of his people—the Fry-Fetching Flamenco. The little girl was enthralled, giggling at the spectacle.
Meanwhile, Larry circled above, keeping an eye on the rival gulls who were now plotting to swoop in. With a tactical screech, he dived, sending the miscreants scattering, all while David continued his hypnotic dance.
The girl was now laughing uproariously, her hands clapping in delight, causing a single, perfectly fried potato to tumble from the bucket. In a flash, David snatched it up, tossed it high, and caught it in his beak with a triumphant squawk.
“Success!” he cried, and with a quick wing-wave to the little girl, he joined Larry in the air.
But victory was short-lived. The rival gulls regrouped, and with hungry eyes, they charged. It was a flurry of feathers and squawks as Larry and David dodged and weaved, protecting their precious cargo.
Then, in an unexpected twist of fate, the back door of Thrasher’s swung open. Out stepped a weary worker, on break, just as Larry and David passed overhead.
“Look out below!” Larry warned.
But it was too late. The fry—glorious in its flight—landed squarely on the worker’s head.
The worker, surprised, plucked the fry from his hair and, seeing the spectacle above, couldn’t help but laugh. In a moment of whimsical generosity, he tossed a handful of fries into the air, where Larry, David, and even the rival gulls feasted in a rare moment of unity.
And from that day forward, Larry and David became legends of Rehoboth Beach, not just for their taste in fries, but for their spirited dance between the sun, the sand, and the savory taste of friendship and fried potatoes.
© Eric Montgomery, 17-Feb-2024