I think it's a Gyr, the pest control lad takes them to the tip and all the seagulls vanish, hundreds of them, I remember one time just one little dishevelled looking peregrine stood on its perch and not a seagull to be seen
I recall one day as my transit tipper left the village of Twenty, grinning slyly on the road to Bourne my slop hound was parallel on the vast expanse as the speedometer displayed precisely 209 mph