Oct. 24: The duck
I guess I was about nine the time my mom took me to the bird sanctuary.
It was understood that the sanctuary was a safe place for birds to be. In my nine-year-old innocence, I believed that the ducks understood this, and they may well have, for they flocked there in great numbers.
And there was a river and on the river were ducks. The ducks were hungry and they were trying to decide between foraging for food in the river or taking seed from the stranger on the riverbank.
I was that stranger. I had a bag of feed with me and the ducks would eat it if I sprinkled it on the ground a respectable distance from where I stood. This did not make me happy. I wanted the ducks to eat from my hand.
My mom said one of them might if I held my hand open and sat very very still.
And so I sat very very still. My hand was open and filled with feed. Ducks would waddle up to me, get frightened, and run back to the water.
There was one brave duck who got closer than any other. Then he would retreat. Then he returned, this time coming a little closer. Then he'd retreat. The pattern repeated itself.
Another lady, a stranger, stopped and took out a camera. She said she would take a picture of the duck eating from my hand.
I didn't say anything. I didn't dare say thank you. I didn't want to frighten the duck.
Here it came again. Its head as green as a Vegas card table. Its feet orange like a sunset. Up it came. Then, sweet glory. It dipped its bill into the feed in my hand and fed. I felt my heart explode. I was communing with nature. This was a wonderful moment. I heard the camera go click and then the duck was gone, back to the water. It would not return. We would never commune again.
I called him "Duckie." He was my friend.
The lady took my address and promised to mail me the picture, but she never did and this is one of the tragedies of my childhood.
It was understood that the sanctuary was a safe place for birds to be. In my nine-year-old innocence, I believed that the ducks understood this, and they may well have, for they flocked there in great numbers.
And there was a river and on the river were ducks. The ducks were hungry and they were trying to decide between foraging for food in the river or taking seed from the stranger on the riverbank.
I was that stranger. I had a bag of feed with me and the ducks would eat it if I sprinkled it on the ground a respectable distance from where I stood. This did not make me happy. I wanted the ducks to eat from my hand.
My mom said one of them might if I held my hand open and sat very very still.
And so I sat very very still. My hand was open and filled with feed. Ducks would waddle up to me, get frightened, and run back to the water.
There was one brave duck who got closer than any other. Then he would retreat. Then he returned, this time coming a little closer. Then he'd retreat. The pattern repeated itself.
Another lady, a stranger, stopped and took out a camera. She said she would take a picture of the duck eating from my hand.
I didn't say anything. I didn't dare say thank you. I didn't want to frighten the duck.
Here it came again. Its head as green as a Vegas card table. Its feet orange like a sunset. Up it came. Then, sweet glory. It dipped its bill into the feed in my hand and fed. I felt my heart explode. I was communing with nature. This was a wonderful moment. I heard the camera go click and then the duck was gone, back to the water. It would not return. We would never commune again.
I called him "Duckie." He was my friend.
The lady took my address and promised to mail me the picture, but she never did and this is one of the tragedies of my childhood.
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