Make Way for Ducklings

Eight duck siblings dined in the shallows near our seawall day-before-yesterday, a main course of aquatic seaweed followed by dessert: my breadcrumbs.  Their mama remained a respectable distance away and could not be coerced to join them in the feast. Our local wildfowl typically don’t domesticate, and wise old mama knew the rules.  Over the years all my others attempts to feed wild ducks on this lake have failed.

But these noisy, quack-quacking guys and gals – teens through and through – had evidently been coached as babies to receive human handouts.  They knew the drill. And they were not going to forget a good thing.  

Yesterday the family came back, boldly bedding down in our yard for a late afternoon nap until time for dinner.  Bills tucked beneath wings.  Eyes shut.  Lights out.

They seemed friendly and endearing - Jack, Kack, Lack, Mack, Nack, Ouach, Pack, and Quack - and yet I was resolved to resist being manipulated by a bunch of cute ducks.  I did NOT want our yard to become their home base, which would also mean their latrine. 

And so I stomped across the yard, flapping my hands aggressively like some very large, angry bird.  They woke up disgruntled and headed for the lake, flapping and squawking in return.  Innocents.  What had they done to deserve this?

One by one they fluttered off the seawall into the lake, obviously upset by the disruption.  In the water they quieted down, floating like motionless decoys with heads cocked just so, staring at me expectantly, waiting for the coveted breadcrumbs.  Sweet duckies, smart little duckies.  When no food appeared, they turned and swam off, waggling their tails as if to say “good riddance” while heading down the shoreline to beg from some other less coldhearted person. 

I watched them swim away with just a touch of remorse, and wondered if they’d be back.