Feral Fowl

So, life in Texas seems to have calmed down a bit. No terrifying windstorms; no wayward crustaceans. We go to the park. We go to Little Gym. We go the grocery store. Besides noticing a copy of Ammunition Today being displayed next to Good Housekeeping or passing the overstocked gun aisle in the local sporting goods store, everything seems pretty, well everyday.

That is, of course, until we tried a new park last Thursday. There was no one else there, which I attributed to the 90-degree heat. I would have been safely ensconced in air conditioning as well, if I hadn't promised Shantih a trip to the swings as a reward for cooperating during a tour of a potential rental house.

After slathering both girls in sunscreen--an increasingly fruitless exercise with Shantih who literally absorbs the sun regardless of her SPF shield--I walked with the girls over to the picnic benches where I first observed a new possibility for the deserted state of the park.

Eek. Eek. The rusty creak of a swing rocking in the wind was the only sound as we approached a beach volleyball court that looked too much like a beach for Shantih to pass by. Both girls began playing in the sand and only I noticed that our approach had been noted. A group, a gaggle?, of six ducks lead by a large black male with red markings started waddling towards us. In an amazingly organized "v" formation they approached, with the leader staking me out coming closer and closer.

As I pulled out my new Samsung Gravity cameraphone, the flock charged mistaking my phone for some kind of white chocolate delicacy. I moved left. So did they. I moved right. I was followed. Every step I made was matched by the ever increasingly throng.

No! Alexis charged into the group yelling "Ducky" "Ducky" and holding out her hand to pet them. Fearful that they would mistake her fruity toddler fingers for a forgotten french fry, I pulled her into my arms but even her screams for me to put her down did not disperse the ducks. They were fixed, focused. I had never seen birds so intent and lacking fear. Were they beset by some avian-flu? I'd once read an article that said that animals who approach humans are likely to be rabid. I looked closely at their beaks for froth but saw only teeth--small but sharp little teeth. Were they just hungry?

I finally returned Alexis to the grass and she proceeded to toddle after the waddlers telling the birds who had moved closer to the nearby stream to "stay here." I knew it was time to leave when she climbed under a recently vacated picnic table and attempted to stick her fingers in some avian leftovers.

As we were leaving, the birds received the visitors they had been expecting. A father and daughter loaded with crumbs who proceeded to feed the entire group. Although part of me felt irritated that these feedings were what domesticated these ducks to the point of harassment, another felt simple amusement to see the lead duck wag his tail feathers like an overly-excited puppy waiting for a treat.

We'll return to the park, but in bigger numbers . . .