So there we are at the Jersey shore, in beautiful downtown Margate with our 89-year-old friend Mary. We are on a mini-boardwalk area that extends out over the bay as the five-o'clock sunlight paints the view with a serene loveliness. Suddenly, a huge seagull flies above us. Hey, does it have something in it's mouth? Something big? Something struggling? Holy Toledo, it's a crab. The gull circles around and lands behind us on the strip of boardwalk, dropping the crab and then pecking at it pleasurably. The crab darts to the left, only to be jabbed by the gull's sharp beak. Then it darts to the right, dodging fruitlessly. Again, the gull goes in for the kill. We three witness the whole shebang, crab shred by crab shred. We can't go anywhere, with the gull blocking our path, so we have to witness the death dance of the crab, literally on its last legs. Finally, when the crab is a goner and the gull flies away - burping? - I promptly exit, tip-toeing past the leftovers, shook-up by the brutality. Hubby say no big deal, it's just Wild Kingdom at its finest, but I didn't watch that show when it was on TV and I certainly don't want to see it up close and personal on a perfectly wonderful summer day. Mary? She is unfazed, a survivor. Why am I so freaked? I don't know, forgive the maudlin attitude, but it's been a weird week, with all the Farrah, Michael and Billy Mays news. It just makes me think - you never know when a seagull or its equivalent is going to swoop you up. In the meantime, guess we just have to be kind, have fun and live it up.