What Ever Happened to that Duck?

Never got the chance to continue the white duck story. So, as I posted below, I fell when I went against my own rules and jogged around trying to catch this bird. I dusted myself off and tried to enlist a few people to assist me in diverting the duck so I could pick him up but NO ONE responded as they passed. I mean, I was in a Zoo polo shirt, had nice hair, earrings. I looked perhaps like an upright person clearly with a job that involves animals... You'd think they'd at least say something back. Nope.

So I decided to walk him back to the Lake.

I left the carrier where it was, and picked up the blanket I'd brought, stretching it across the front of my body from arm to arm, forming a kind of cloth wall. And I started walking behind him. He marched forward, occasionally looking back at me. If he veered to the left, so did I. Ditto if he veered right, and it got him walking straight again.

We marched past the train tracks, and a sidewalk, the outdoor grills and a swing set, past gravel where people were playing ball and continued over the grass. The duck eventually started quacking at me, the frequency and volume escalating in direct relation to his increasing annoyance with me, I'm sure.

Apparently he can't fly, or I'd assume he'd have taken off at some point. Which most likely means he was owned by someone who dropped him off when they got tired of caring for him.

He finally got tired and resigned -- just stopped in his tracks. I slowly approached, and gently picked him up, just like I was taught as a docent at the Zoo. He sat calmly in the blanket as I walked him steadily the rest of the way, though his bill was open a little the rest of the way. Didn't know if he was hot or pissed. Just a few more steps and I could place him into the water. There was another duck already paddling around close to shore and I hoped that was a good thing. Maybe this duck had been bullied and was seeking refuge so far away. Or maybe it just needed to see another duck in the lake to realize he was one himself, and should take like the proverbial duck to water.

Once floating, I watched him for a few minutes. He seemed unsure he wanted to be there but that faded with in 60 seconds. His bill closed, he took a few dunks in the water, and then began to nibble at the greens growing below the water's surface, as naturally as if he'd been there all his life (and hadn't been annoyed by a 5'7" wingless, webless biped)

I headed all the way back in the scorching sun, numb from my chin to my hairline, collected my carrier and bread, then trudged even further to where I'd parked the car. My jeans were ripped, and prime spots were covered in dirt from my fall. So far, the novicane was holding (this paragraph only makes sense if you read the previous post). I got home and fell into bed.

Two days later, my tooth is 100% better. I'm driving to work and see a bright white football shaped thing in a similar place in the grass.

(yes Ellen, you're psychic)

THE DUCK WAS BACK!!!