Macho, Macho Duck

Got off my rear this evening and went on a bike ride. Scared into it by an e-mail from Rise, titled Imminent Alien Landing, with details of her arrival time tomorrow. That woman is fit. And I am not - as. So I gritted my teeth and pedalled doggedly into the wind. Set no land speed records, but went the whole, hour-long route, mulling things over in my head. All the gobbledygook with which it is usually filled. And then some.

Stopped before home at the little lake nearby. Except that, with our lack of rain this spring, it has shrunk to a mere puddle. The whole area is a bird sanctuary, and there are signs to that effect, lest you get too trigger-happy with your shotgun.

After propping my bike against a tree, I walked along the little wooden pier. The light was fading, but I could make out the dark shape of a largish duck against the light of the water. He was busy, ducking his head under, for food, I presumed. As I watched I thought "That fish, or whatever, is putting up quite a fight."

Mr. Duck, a muscovy [homely looking critter], was doing some heavy-duty wiggling. But then he apparently gave up the fight. Lo, and behold! A female duck materialised from under him! He strutted [yeah! I'm the man!] from the water, and she waddled after him, both of them spreading their wings and shaking out their feathers, folding their wings back in place, then stretching upwards and giving the tailfeathers a vigorous waggling. Aha. Not dinner time after all. Eine kleine Nachtmusik. Just a little early.

They seemed very satisfied with themselves, and unconcerned that a pair of mallards nearby might have been traumatised for life.

An egret was darting around the water's edge. Usually when I see egrets they are playing statue. With their necks folded into exaggerated esses,they stalk their prey stealthily and almost motionlessly in preparation for the lightening strike at some hapless fish, minding his own business under the water. But this little fellow was hungry, darting to left and right in the muddy shallows. He looked kind of ungainly and as if he might have been glad of a good pair of wellies.

Suddenly the peace was shattered by the loud honking, nearby, of a sandhill crane. Such elegant fowl! Such obnoxious noise! Like those noisemakers people like to take to sports events. The ones that whirl around and make a clacking sound. And make you want to choke the owner.

There appeared to be some kind of domestic dispute going on between two cranes. They mate for life you know. Not to be confused with living happily ever after. I felt for them. Why can't we all just be nice to each other and quit honking?

Got back on the bike in the gathering gloom. Wobbled, lost my balance and fell off, hitting the grass, with a bone jarring thump. Lay where I'd fallen, wallowing in the humiliation, gingerly feeling my bones, and wishing I were a duck. Not a sex-crazed muscovey, but a nice, civilised little mallard. A less than auspicious ending to a so-so day.

Things will definitely look up tomorrow, as my beloved sister is arriving, and having her here will make all my owwees better.