In one mid-August, I was driving through Ann Morrison Park when a mother duck walked in front of my car and gave me this look. The best way I can describe the look as if she said, “I dare you to run over me.”
I stopped just enough to see her over the hood of my car. From the right side of the road, I saw seven little ducklings waddling behind her to the left side. When the last one safely reached the other side, she followed.
Mid-August was not a time I would expect to see a mother with duckling. I immediately found a nearby parking place and walked over to where the mother duck and ducklings were grazing. I sat on the grass twenty feet from them. Knowing about seasonal monogamy of ducks, I looked around for the father duck.
To my astonishment, the mother duck came up to me. “Why are you studying me and my family so intently?” She asked.
Taken aback by the question, for I had never heard a duck speak in such perfect English. It took me a couple of minutes to compose myself. I finally answered. “You so intimidated me by the way you walked in front of my car and the look on your face. I wanted to know why a duck would give me such an intimidating look, and now you are speaking to me in perfect English.”
She turned, as if to ignore my response. Then she abruptly turned toward me and spoke. “I was about ready to lay the eggs for those ducklings. The ducklings’ father and me were going to cross that road to find a place for me to lay my eggs. He stepped out onto the road to make sure it was safe for me to go across. A car like yours paid no attention to the duckling’s father and ran him over; killing him.”
I was so stunned by her story. In addition to her speaking in perfect English, I sat there feeling I should say something, but not knowing what to say.
She must of have scented me feeling perplexed when she said, “If you want to do anything for me and my family, just stop and be curious when you see any of my kind waiting to cross.”
