The flock that couldn’t fly straight

CRITTER TAILS



 

Uh-oh, the mallards must’ve gotten into the spiked pond water, judging by their recent antics.

The skies above my friend’s Newbury Park neighborhood are, for the most part, placid, birdwise. Occasionally there’ll be hawks, crows or turkey vultures going about their business. But during one recent sunset, there came a pair of mallards frantically flying east only to execute a wild, wide, sudden turn when they caught sight of a flock of their brethren headed west.

Well, there are tardy ones in every species, I guess, who are duly informed the party gets underway promptly at 7 p.m. and show up an hour late wondering why the revelers are already digging into dessert. So this wayward pair puts the hurry on to join their pals, but what a fiasco that turns out to be.

Clearly, the leader of the mallard flock has misplaced his GPS. The duck crew was above a cul-de-sac that backs to open space bristling with prickly pear cactus, no place for ducks to land and totter around.

“Okay, guys and dolls, we ain’t gonna land here! Brake! Hard right!” This is my approximate translation of the thought process of the lead mallard as he swerves away from the looming patch of barbarous plants. He leads his minions in a circle above the cul-de-sac then flips into reverse.

It’s astounding these feathered clowns don’t end up in a 15-bird pileup. At least cars have turn signals and blinkers. The ducks clumsily reverse position only to circle the same cul-de-sac again. And again.

I gesture to let them know the nearest body of water, Lake Sherwood, is “that-away” and not a far journey.

Their peculiar persistence reminds me of the irrational behavior of a human who has lost a contact lens or wallet. It’s the “I lost something of value a few streets over, but hey, the light’s so much better over here” mentality, only mallard-brain-style.

Maybe there’s a backyard swimming pool the ducks had been invited to crash land in, but they’ve forgotten the address of the kindly invitee, someone who wouldn’t mind 15 ducks fouling and then sinking his brand-new pool cover when they alight all at once.

It’s a hopeless case. They don’t seem to know where they are going, and I’m courting neck strain watching them.

Mallards aren’t particularly graceful. They waddle awkwardly along the shore and airborne can appear as polished in form as a whirling dervish.

What we need is a flock of Canada geese to happen by and give the mallards an SOS. Those big birds have style and apt directional capabilities.

I can envision a chubby goose wearing a headset and wielding a pair of batons, guiding the cul-de-sac-circling, cacti-leery mallards through an emergency landing on a nice cushy lawn.

Glasser is a freelance writer and local nature enthusiast. Reach her at whirlawaygig@gmail.com.