I didn’t know it at the time, but this story is about the beginning of everything.

Before the training, before the licenses, before the long nights and harder goodbyes, there was one small life that asked me to pay attention. One ordinary, unwanted bird who landed in my hands and refused to let go. This is how Sam found me.

Gloucester, Massachusetts

November 1, 2005

Written by Founder Jodi Swenson

I sit here today with an empty space in my heart, because I fell in love with a rat with wings.

It began on a beautiful day in mid-July 2005. Outside, there was the familiar, chaotic soundtrack of seagulls arguing about something important. I stepped out to look and found a tiny, fuzzy seagull chick (no more than a day or two old) huddled beside a piece of construction pipe.

This little one must have been taken from its nest by another gull and dropped. All summer long, babies fall from the 60-foot building next to my work. Most don’t survive, and I had never seen one this small. I scooped him up, and his mother immediately appeared in front of me furious, loud, and very clear about how she felt about my interference.

A Choice I Couldn’t Ignore

I knew I couldn’t put the baby back on the roof. I had tried with others, and both the babies and I were attacked by fiercely protective nesting gulls. So I took him home and started calling everyone I knew who had ever cared for a baby bird. Eventually, I found a nice man who willingly helped any seagull he came across. He showed me what to feed the baby and how to do it.

I was also told it was illegal to keep seagulls. That was advice I chose to ignore. I figured no one cared what happened to a gull. People hate them here in this tiny fishing town and I was helping the bird, right?

I had always thought seagulls were amazing and beautiful. I loved their tough-guy attitude. The "I’ll steal what I want from you and look you straight in the eye while I do it" swagger.

Meet Sam

This little baby came into my life, and I had no idea how much he would educate and change me. My daughter named him Sam.

Every day, Sam went wherever I went. I fed him and cleaned him at least ten times a day. I could have started my own recycling business with the amount of newspaper I went through, and any conservationist would have been frustrated over the amount of laundry I did.

On nice days, I’d take Sam outside and let him wander. Neighbors would fawn over how cute he was and sneak him treats. Passersby stopped to tell me their seagull stories.

One man told me how he and the guys at Gorton’s used to laugh as gulls dropped clams onto their boss’s Mercedes vehcile, taking great joy in the temper tantrum he’d throw while watching his poor car get pummeled.

Growing Up Fast

Sam grew very quickly. Every day he had less fuzz and more feathers. At the same time, he became more outgoing, playful, and funny. He loved people, especially kids. If children were sitting together playing games, Sam had to be there. I think he liked the chatter of their little voices.

Sam’s favorite time was tubby time. He would sit in the sink, and later the bathtub, flapping his wings, dunking his head, and wiggling his bum. Tubby time happened at least five or six times a day, and he would happily play in the water for 45 minutes at every stretch.

Time to Let Go (or So I Thought)

One day, while we were hanging out outside, Sam flew. One day he couldn’t; the next day he could. It was time to find Sam a place to stay until he was stronger and ready for release.

I lived in a condo and didn’t really want a seagull flying around our living room. I don’t think I could have found enough paper for that (and plus… yuck). I called back the same nice man from the beginning of Sam’s story. He had a large fenced-in pen with a koi pond where he kept injured gulls until he could bring them to the Tufts Wildlife Clinic for further care. He told me Sam could stay in his pen as long as he needed.

A Dangerous Realization

A day after dropping Sam off, the nice man called me, very concerned about Sam’s behavior. Something that hadn’t occurred to me was that seagulls imprint, as happen with other waterfowl. Have you ever witnessed a duckling nearly kill itself trying to follow its mom? That undeniable loyalty and love...that’s imprinting.

And Sam was imprinted on people.

This quickly became a terrifying concern, considering how people in the area tend to actively hate, kick, and shoot gulls. I contacted 50 or 60 professionals, asking what I should do. The advice was wildly conflicting, and I didn’t know which way to turn. I wanted Sam to be free, but I was afraid for him.

In the end, I decided to at least give Sam the chance to be a wild bird.

Letting Him Fly

On a sunny morning, I brought Sam back to my condo, opened the window, and let him go. He circled happily, squawking a few times, then flew towards the water and out of sight.

I kept food in the window, thinking he might come back when he was hungry and maybe he wouldn’t bother people. I sat there all day, calling to every gull I saw, hoping one of them was Sam. He never came back.

When it started to get dark, I broke down and cried...out of guilt, fear, and worry.

After a restless night, I drove to every beach I could think of, but I couldn’t find him. Reluctantly, I went to work, heartbroken.

Sam Finds His Way Home

Early one afternoon, the nice man called. Sam was there with him!

It took him a day and a half, but he found his way home. The man told me he heard children laughing outside and, when he looked, there was Sam with a group of kids who, until they realized he was friendly, had been throwing rocks at him.

3 Impossible Choices

After he returned home, we knew Sam may never be able to be released. The risk that someone would hurt him grew more real every day. 

After more research (and more scolding from wildlife rehabbers), I learned I had only three choices.

I could bring him to a rehabber and hope that after living with other gulls, he would “wild up” and be released. But if he couldn’t, he might be euthanized. I could try to find someone who wanted to use him for education, but few people were interested in such a common bird. Or I could keep him illegally while doing the work to become a licensed wildlife rehabber and teach with him. 

To me, the third choice felt right. 

The nice man and I decided to keep Sam. We both loved him deeply. I visited him every morning and often in the afternoon. Sam was always happy to see me. He loved visitors, flying to land on my head, playing catch, chattering endlessly. Many people met Sam. He loved everyone. Even tough-guy fishermen came to see him and left calling him the sweetest thing. They never looked at gulls the same way again.

Knowing When to Let Go

One cold day, a sporadic snowstorm blew through, and Sam’s net in his pen collapsed. He had to come back to the condo. I felt awful keeping him in the bathroom, but I let him out to walk and fly as much as possible. I’m so grateful now for those few extra days with him.

It became clear that keeping Sam might not be the best choice, and that maybe we were being selfish. I called a man at a zoo who had shown interest in Sam earlier. He still wanted him. Sam could have his own space, and maybe someday a mate.

I knew in my heart it was best for Sam. I had to let go and trust that someone else could give him what he needed.

Trusting the Process

To get Sam to the zoo, I had to go through the several legal channels, which meant handing him over to a certified wildlife rehabber first. After many conversations and a promise he wouldn’t be euthanized, I reluctantly let him go.

After days of worry, I went looking for Sam. I had to see him. I broke some rules and found him deep in the woods. When I was caught, the vets didn’t get angry. Instead, they explained why I couldn’t see him anymore.

They hoped that with time, surrounded by other gulls and minimal human contact, Sam might wild up.

The thought of Sam being free made my heart sing. That’s all I ever wanted for him. And if he didn’t snap out of it, the zoo would be there.

Whatever happened, my sweet Sam would survive. He would grow into a beautiful, majestic herring gull...not a rat with wings.

One Year Later

After a long winter, an escape, and a scary foot infection, Samantha was released on a beautiful sunny spring day on Cape Cod.

She...yes, she (I had her DNA sexed)...didn’t even look at me. She flew happily, dropped into the water, and started fishing.

As I walked away and looked at her one last time, I realized I had found my purpose.

Today, I help orphaned and injured wild creatures. I’ve helped over 160 animals from baby songbirds, squirrels, cottontails, hawks, mourning doves, fisher cats, turkeys, rare shorebirds, and of course, lots and lots of seagulls.

I can only do this work with the help of the New England Wildlife Center, Tufts Wildlife Clinic, the nice man, my amazing mentor Miss Grace, many others, and the patience of my wonderful guy and my daughter.

Closing Reflection

Sam was never meant to stay. She was meant to open a door.

Every animal that came after her traces back to that first choice...to care, to learn, to keep going even when it hurt. She wasn’t just the gull that changed my life; she was the beginning of it. And every time I lift another small, fragile creature into my hands, I see her again...flying ahead, showing me the way.

Falling for a Rat with Wings: Sam’s Story