There's a dead puffin behind the dunes on West Sands. Its body lies on the grass next to the West Sands road. The bright orange beak stands out in the green summer grass. It's quite a bit smaller than I expect a puffin to be. For the last two days, I've dodged it on my run and wondered. I wondered why it was there. Puffins don't tend to hang out in St Andrews. The Isle of May, sat in the middle of the Firth of Forth, is more their scene. Especially at this time of year, as they're nesting. Maybe it got lost, I thought to myself as I ran on, or maybe it just wanted a change of scene from the volcanic pipe that guards the entrance to the Forth. Then I wondered how it died, if it fell dead from the air or was ambushed on the ground. I feel sorry for it as my legs ache. 

It saddens me, somewhat, as it means the only puffin I've seen is a dead one. 

Which is quite a selfish way to look at it.