Bryn, Joe and I drove to the beach with two fat sticks collected on dog walks. She brought her favorite blue rubber bone. The weather was breezy and hot, registering almost 90 degrees.
The plan: toss a stick far away on the warm sand so she would retrieve it, then be so hot from all that dashing about, that plunging into the turbulent water would feel wonderful.
High waves vigorously thundered onto the beach. Lots of natural brown lake debris had formed a rough, three-foot wide band just short of the sand: entering the lake was a yucky experience. I decided not to get my hair wet today. But Bryn didn’t care. She bounced through it and we all paddled about happily about 40 feet out, tossing her bone here and there. She managed to grab it first 95% of the time, as we threw short and then pretended to paddle hard to fetch it before she could. Her satisfaction was delightful to witness.
Bobbing up from a deep trough I noticed another family floating atop the waves. A mother duck, dressed in dowdy brown feathers, clucked to her brood of eight tiny ducklings spread out across the heaving water. It was hard for each ‘ling to see its siblings, as the large waves’ troughs kept hiding them. One little scrap of life seemed to be more disoriented than the others. After every big trough the little guy had paddled further out to sea. Huh. Almost 100 feet separated him from his family now, I reckoned,
He was all alone in the vast lake.
“Uh-oh,” I muttered...
I hoped the mother could count.
Joe and I eventually left the water; our dog was happy to keep retrieving tossed sticks without us having to swim.
But then, the mother duck noticed a Monster moving toward her brood- too close for comfort, in her estimation. She stretched her neck, trying to keep track of the carnivore moving quietly along, like a stealthy shark – Oh, No! The Monster had suddenly noticed her children! (Her fluffy infants were clueless. They just silently bobbed and paddled.)
Horrified, Mama leapt from the water, quacking rhythmically every half second, which immediately attracted Bryn’s attention.
Here’s the thing: Bryn hadn’t noticed the babies; she was too intent on retrieving her blue bone. Those ‘lings were so tiny and the waves were so large they’d gone unnoticed.
But Mother Duck had a different opinion. Bryn was a THREAT! She zipped over her bobbing head, screaming curses. Bryn looked up, then ducked as Mama shot past her nose.
Quack! Quack! That strident sound echoed over the thundering waves. Mama would land close, then rise up and fly low, leading our dog away from her babies.
Oh, the noise! That bird never stopped quacking. Not once. Every half-second on the dot. On and on and on.
Baffled, Bryn swam to the beach, then ran along the lake’s edge in hot pursuit.
Then, wily Mama hatched another plan. Quack! Quack! Quack! She flew close, landed closer, and spit out more quacks. Bryn immediately galloped back into the water, heedless of the waves. That duck was nuts! And so close! Bryn would fetch her!
Flying j-u-s-t out of reach that duck lured Bryn further and further out into the deep. Our dog was so focused on the bird she didn’t realize what was happening. When we finally did, we ran along the beach cupping our hands and yelling her name. Bryn paddled doggedly out, out, following that Pied Piper’s Quack! Quack! The sound was apparently irresistible. She’d fetch/catch that noisy duck, by golly!
Worried now, I thought: Surely the mother would run out of quacks! Her throat must ache!
Surely she would check on her children! She was so far away!
Quack! Quack! Quack! Quack! She’d kept up that rhythm for at least twenty minutes.
Joe, realizing that duck’s plan when I did, ran along the beach yelling Bryn’s name over and over in his own rhythm, between her quacks- “Bryn!” Quack! “Bryn!” Quack!
Almost out of earshot, she finally heard him and turned back toward shore: we sighed with relief. After what seemed hours she dragged her tired self onto the sand, shook, and then looked at us, panting.
That bird is Bonkers, Boss!
That bird almost finished you, Bryn, thought I.
I leashed her and we walked slowly across the sand toward the car. Twice, Bryn tried to bolt back to the water: she wanted that duck! Both times I managed to hold her back.
Mother duck, bobbing amid her brood, watched our retreat. Quack! Quack! Quack...
When she was 100% sure we were no longer a threat, she finally shut up. Lord!
We stopped when we reached grass, and looked back. I recounted the ducklings. One baby was still missing! But that triumphant mama proved that she could count, too. Leaving her seven ducklings she flew high, spotted her errant baby way out there in the watery widerness, and sailed down to land next to him. Slowly, slowly she led the lost ‘ling back to his siblings.
Wow! That fowl had been absolutely focused. She’d identified Bryn as a threat, and dealt with her using three very effective strategies; scream while dive-bombing; slow-fly very low just inches from her nose; and finally, tempt her to swim deep into Lake Michigan.
To drown?
What a fascinating demonstration of duck devotion.