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The Quack of Dawn

Every spring morning around dawn, Aunt Matilda paddled up to my window with a flotilla of imprinted ducklings following in her wake (Calvin, Boopsie, Phoebe,Wanda, Linus and Zak).

From all the pipping and squeaking, you'd think they hadn't eaten in a week, when I knew for a fact that I'd personally fed them four times in 24 hours. These pip-squeaks were announcing that it was 6 a.m. and raising holy hell, wanting to know why they hadn't been offered breakfast yet. There were several problems with this fowl alarm clock:

  1. I couldn't set it.
  2. It didn't have a snooze mode.
  3. I had to get out of bed to turn it off.
Eventually I stumbled into the living room, determined to get even with those early birds, impatiently wagging their little rumps that were sprouting tail feathers like shoots of radish. I began tossing pieces of dry baguette out the window. The ducklings converged from all directions, webbed feet churning beneath the surface, lunging for the bread, or at least trying to interfere with
Calvin surged forward, hydroplaning at peak speed of 10 knots, red-lining his tachometer.
the trajectory of a rival, like NBA players elbowing each other away from the basket.

"OK, it's time for a game of chicken," I announced as I gradually cast the bread closer to the window, aiming to find the magic distance. When bread landed on that fine line between in-bounds and out-of-bounds, the ducks put on a classic demonstration of approach/ avoidance right out of Psychology 101. I could read Calvin's mind, as his fuzzy head, earmarked with yellow-feathered racing stripes, cocked from side to side. "Oh boy. Look. A big piece of bread. Ha, nobody sees it. Man, and it's that chewy Quignonnette from the Gourmet Patisserie. Yummy. I'll just quickly cruise over before Boopsie turns around."

Calvin surged forward, hydroplaning at peak speed of 10 knots, red-lining his tachometer. He noticed a strange thing as he started to close on his objective. "Man. Bob's boat seems closer ... and bigger. And Bob is downright sinister-looking." Calvin slowed to two knots, rocking in his own wash. When he finally was on the verge of snagging his morsel, Calvin abruptly backpaddled. "Shoot. That bread isn't from the Gourmet Patisserie. Man, it's from the neighborhood Boulanger. What a rip." At a safer distance Calvin built up his courage and circled in for a second try, then a third try ... Finally the current swept the bread far enough downstream from the window for Calvin, and all his siblings, to overcome their fear. The curious thing, and I really need to dig out my textbook, is that these ducks kept losing their nerve at the last second, even when the bread had passed within their proven range -- like kids pretending to scare themselves. Are they just playing with me to see how long they can hold my interest?

continuation... Jumping for Joy


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