Nature 2-Pat 0 (Duck Story The Second)--6/29/2004

So, this morning I was quite embarrassingly presented with the answer to the age old question: Are ducks suicidal? The answer, it seems, is yes. But only if they can take someone out with them.

Early this morning I found myself in the unpleasant state of being awake--because any day that starts before 9:00 is bound to be a bad one, I've always found. Nonetheless, I decided that I would use the opportunity to take my exercise a little early. So I set out on my bike, following my normal route on the bike path up to the park where I ride endless circles. As usual, there were several dozen ducks and a few domestic geese lounging along the path. Thanks to years of training by people who are too lazy to find out-of-the-way places to feed them, these birds have grown accustomed to spending most of the year close to this spot about midway between our house and the park, waiting for stale bread chunks. Most of the time the birds lie just off the bike path, out of harm's way--and this was the case on my way to the park. Two of the geese hissed at me as I passed, but this is normal. It is a well-known fact that geese fear bikes. They are natural enemies. It is part of their collective subconscious, passed down for generations.

I rode my endless circles, which, since they ended, only seemed endless, and began to head back. Shortly past the halfway point where the ducks were mostly congregated, I noticed a woman and her adolescent son taking up the whole path. This also is normal. It is part of the human collective subconscious to spread out on any thoroughfare as much as possible to inhibit the movement of others. We are a competitive species, humans, and it is natural that we dislike seeing others pass us by. Seeing this early, I slowed down considerably--to just above walking speed, in fact--so I could time my passing with a large enough space in the grass along the left side of the path.

Because I was watching the people and trying to time my riding accordingly, I stopped paying attention to the ducks as I passed. It is part of the duck's collective subconscious--as I found out with my earlier story a few months back--to always want to be the center of attention, but to hate BEING the center of attention (they are a complicated lot, ducks, full of paradoxes). So, seeing that I wasn't paying attention, one of the male ducks wandered out into the middle of the path.

I saw the duck walk into the middle of the path, which meant that I was paying attention to him, which should have made him happy enough to feel his existence was worthwhile. He should have wandered back off the path as I approached. In fact, he DID start to move, as if to make room for me to pass. And I steered slightly counter the direction he was heading, which SHOULD have passed me by him safely. But this duck had more than simple attention grabbing on his mind. He wanted to die.

So, just as I veered to one direction, the duck turned abruptly and walked directly under my wheel. By this point I was moving at the slowest speed I possibly could on a bike while staying upright, but I still couldn't stop in time to keep from hitting him. Anyone who has ever run into something bigger than a breadbox while riding a bike knows that bikes aren't made for running into, and especially not over, breadboxes. They have a tendency to try to climb the object, fail, and fall over, with momentum carrying the rider to an uncomfortable resting place somewhere further beyond.

Here it is necessary for me to describe the area BESIDE Newton's walking path, for those of you who have never seen it or never paid attention to it (as I myself never really had, at least closely, until today). Newton has a distinct erosion problem along the river side of the path. Years of what I can only assume was poor planning have led to the washing away of MOST of the grassy area that was supposed to act as buffer between the path and the river. Thus there are spots where the path looms precariously close to a six or seven foot drop into the river, where there are often large and pointy rocks waiting. In other places, there still exist a few feet of grass before hitting the river. The effect is that the river's edge meanders back and forth between these two distances along the whole of the path from Ash Street (the closest road-path intersection to our house) and First Street (the southern end of the path).

I was almost fortunate enough to run into this duck during one of the spots where I had ample room to fall without hitting the river. Almost. Instead, my awkward momentum carried my bike slightly past the duck and off the path, where it (my bike, not the duck) tossed me off and settled to a stop where it felt comfortable. I continued forward in a lazy, half-hearted roll, right over the edge of the grass, down the bank and into the river. Goddamn Newton's poor erosion planning and goddamn every duck that is bound and determined to make my life a living hell this year.

For those of you who aren't too busy laughing at my misfortune to be wondering if I suffered any injuries (I DID say there were dangerous rocks along much of the river bank earlier and who knows if I concussed myself on one of those, I bet you didn't even THINK about that, did you? Jerk.), I didn't. My momentum was so very nearly non-existent that by the time I reached the edge of the water, the only thing that kept me moving towards it was gravity. I was able to mostly ease my way down the bank--with the sort of nimble grace that would make a drunken bison cringe--so that I merely ended up covered in mud and nearly knee deep in water and river sludge.

I believe I was even fortunate enough to escape without anyone seeing it happen. The mother and child ahead of me never looked back and there was nobody else in sight. I would appreciate it, though, if everyone could keep an eye on future episodes of America's Funniest Home Videos. If someone is going to cash in on my misfortune, I'd like to at least get a cut of it.

And for those of you who are wondering about the duck, I'm assuming he is fine. Unfortunately. Since I was tumbling my way to watery discomfort, I wasn't able to keep track of what the duck did (the rest of the ones sitting on that side of the path were kind enough to not catch me while I fell, choosing to waddle or fly off in all directions, I did see them). But when I scrambled back up the side of the bank (which would have been an amusing sight too, I'm sure, since I once again did it with all the grace and dignity my dainty little body could muster), there was no dead duck waiting for me.

But he's out there somewhere, and he wants to die. So my advice is to be careful!