A Fond Au Revoir to the Ducks

 HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN:  Poor little Eddy. She is confused. The little female mallard is gooshing around in the leaves that remain in the tarp that covers our pool, trying to figure out what the heck is going on. (Talk about protective coloration, right? Whoa. See her?)

Yes, it's time for the pool to open, and that means it's time for the water to be drained from the tarp, and that means it's time for the ducks to leave.

They've been In our backyard pool since March of this year, but you know the story.

 “Our” first two ducks, who we named Flo and Eddy, and yes I know it's strange, but Flo is the male and Eddy is the female and that's just how it is. Their names just appeared to me that way. (Flo and Eddy, like water, you know?)

They have been coming to our backyard, as you know, every March for 27 years.

Twenty-seven years! 

The first year they arrived I was jumping up and down with delight! I remember the first words out of my mouth were: “Jonathan! Do we have any duck food?” 

Of course we did not have duck food, but we soon got it, and soon we were feeding the ducks happily.  

We had no idea what would happen, how long they would stay, whether it would be overnight or forever. We finally had to open the pool for the summer, and that was a moment of crisis. Would they stay and swim in the pool with the chlorine? Year number one, yes they did. 

Eddy arrived first, sploshing into the chlorinated pool, and it was so funny, because I could see, for the first time, her little webbed feet pushing back and forth in the now clear water. I was totally freaked out! I called the Audubon Society, panicked. 

“Listen,” I said,  “there is a duck in our pool, and there is chlorine in it! Will it hurt their feet?” The Audubon Society person paused, and then, in the most supercilious tone imaginable, said to me:  Does the chlorine hurt your feet?

Which I thought was irrelevant, but I took it to mean that it would be fine. The next day, though, Eddy came back, and sort of quacked and waddled around the patio, and then left.

I was absolutely bereft. Would I ever see the ducks again?

And then, around March 15th or so of the next year, somehow I can describe this to you, the ripples on the water in the pool tarp were just... different. 

And I said to Jonathan, “The ripples in the pool look like it's time for the ducks.” And he said, “What do you mean?” And I said “I have no idea. It just looks like... it looks like it's time.”

The next day the ducks arrived. Flo and Eddy, looking exactly like they did the year before. 

I know you know this story, so I will keep it short, but every year around March, they come, Flo and Eddy, and more ducks which we named Not-Flo, and Not-Eddy, and Mangy Duck, and No Neck, and Spot Front, and Nasty Duck, and Pretty Eddy.

You ask if we can tell them apart. Yes indeed we can, and if you watched them as much as we do, you would be able to as well. I mean think about it, if you had four, say, dachshunds, you'd be able to tell them apart, right? Same with ducks. 

And now they actually come to our back door to remind us to feed them! And gently peck on it if we don't hurry up.

So, the pool people are here today, and another season of our life is over, duck season is on pause until next year. But I know it's summer, and the pool will be fun, and it will be lovely to have sunny days and float on our rafts in the pool reading with lemonade, one of our favorite pastimes. But I know that if someone asked me “would you rather keep the pool closed and keep the ducks around?” I would say yes.

Au revoir, dear Flo and Eddy, and we are crossing wings and fingers to see you next year.

 

Reds and readers, what are your signs of the coming summer?