Before there were humans, mansions, sailboats, tourists, summer traffic, more and more (and more) hotels, Dells Lemonade trucks, fried clams and lobster rolls or the ultra-rare open parking space on this island, there were seagulls. Loud and boisterous, stealing thieving opportunists, equal opportunity dive bombers of Native Americans, English colonists, Redcoats, George Washington (who slept here), Great Gatsby era millionaires, Newport based US Navy sailors, America's Cup crewmen, the Jamestown Ferry passengers, Livingston Taylor (who sang at "SALT" if you were around here then), destination date couples from Cranston, transplanted New Yorkers, short shorts wearing girls and the boys who watch them, and every other dang person of every stripe and color who feels the need for an exotic road trip across the bridge, generations of seagulls were here sharing our space.

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They steal your french fries, poop on your car, your boat, and your sister. They fake broken wings for sympathy (and food), and watch everything that happens every minute of the day perched on lamp posts and park benches, or soaring majestically overhead in search of their next meal or target. 

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They are the Seagulls of Newport