There's something about a gathering of ducks that draws me to watch and listen. Their interaction intrigues me. They chatter and chase, they feed and preen, they join in groups then fly off somewhere else. They are at home in air, on land, on water, under water. They run their own society. They live in harmony with the planet. They understand its changes far better than we. They come in all different sizes and colours, each to fill a special niche. They carry on their life among us, around us, and apart from us. They have secrets we know nothing about.
Perhaps that is what intrigues me, draws me near. Maybe if I watch and listen long enough, I'll understand. Perhaps I won't, but I won't be any less knowledgeable for trying.
They intermingle with seagulls, geese, coots, and other ducks. They don't go to war and kill each other, but they can and will protect their territory. Sometimes that means one will lose some feathers, or have a foot injured. They are very vocal, but they seem to settle most of their differences with loud, emphatic quacking and determined chasing until the one being chased is far enough away for satisfaction.
In winter, when wheat has been strewn across the snow to feed them, I have noticed that early arrivals will mill about and wait for the late-comers to arrive before they start eating. They remember where the wheat was, and return each day with more friends. Word travels quickly. What started out with half a dozen soon became 50 or more.
In summer, when the beach is full of people, they will watch who is eating and make a visit to see if you are willing to share. They will make direct eye contact, and hang around long enough for you to get the message and change your mind.
For me they are a never ending source of interest and amusement, and I wonder if humans could learn a thing or two from them. I'm sure we could - because right now, we are a mess.
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