As I was running my errands this morning, I noticed a man slowly shuffling his feet. In the middle of the street. Stopping morning traffic. Ok, no biggie. Crackhead at 7a.m. It IS a big city, after all. And with that, comes all kinds of crazy that can ensue at any -odd- hour of the day, or at early breakfast time. All the cars on the opposing side of traffic were stopped. Slowing. Laying on the horns, as if that would’ve helped. It didn’t. And I dropped my croissantwhich. Jerks. Some drivers, creeping across the double yellow lines to possibly attempt to get around the mess. Not going to happen people. So, I’m thinking, maybe I need to call the police, so we can get this guy out off the highway. Eh, too lazy to do that. Maybe turn him into a speed bump? Ugh… Noooo. He’ll just be released in a few hours, smoking another pipe. Or soda can…. or whatever. And I’ll go to jail for intentional, accidental manslaughter. With common sense in tow, I’ll just have to wait out his wandering until he makes it to the sidewalk. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Take your time, no one here has anything to do… Sigh.
But, to my surprise, he wasn’t a resident methhead. Yay! He had actually been corralling a mama duck and her babies from the traffic, so that they would’t get run over! Ducks. Ducks? Like mallards? You did say that… you said, ducks? Like, wild birds? Yup. Seriously. Random foul in the road. Criminy. I hadn’t even had any coffee yet. I thought I was hallucinating. I wasn’t. And the breakfastwhich is unsalvagable. Hmph. So, after he -and a random woman- heard the lost quack-quacks to the grass, they leave… and I think, that’s it? Is this all? We’re just going to save some ducks from their untimely death -by vehicle- and then mosey along about our day? Heroics are done? Gotta run to save a cat from a tree now. Deuces. Clearly, these squaklings have lost their way. The babies peeping about: Have you seen our daddy? Are you my daddy? Nope. He’s a deadbeat. And now you got mama duck trying to wrangle her minions to a new home. No where near body of water. Here’s the thing. They are freaking lost! Anybody think to call animal control? Get them safely to some kind of urban jungle pond?
After the hubbub came to a halt. I decided to make said phone calls. I just didn’t feel that they were actually safe enough to leave all alone, at a bank parking lot. So, I dial up animal control for the city I “thought” I was in… nope. Wrong jurisdiction. So, I ring up another animal center that is, apparently the correct one, and after going through 12 minutes of, merry-go-round menu options, the number they are connecting me to… is freaking disconnected. Screw this. So, I call up my sister and ask her who the hell do I call, if I can’t actually “call” anyone to pick up these little fuzz balls and relocate them somewhere safe. She suggests calling 911. Ugh. No. They aren’t humans, and its not a crime scene. Unless some bastard runs over the soft little buggers. Although, this does give me the idea to call the local police department. Argh. Here we go… They put me on hold for 15 minutes, AFTER, the phone incessantly rang for about 3 1/2 minutes. Which doesn’t sound like a long time; But, it is. When you keep hearing a ringing sound every two seconds. Trust me. It is. And, I pretty much want to scream at this point. So, since I was on hold for so long, I thought I’d keep an eye on the feathered friends and walk around the parking lot. Wait a minute… What the hell? Where did they… The pheasants disappeared! Gone. Momma and her 5-7 babies… GONE. Are you kidding me?
That’s it. I give up. Maybe a duck thief snatched them up, while I was on the phone screwing around, waiting for Ronald McDonald to pick up the line? Maybe the sole purpose of this incident, was to get me to google the spirit animal meaning of this whole duck thing to begin with? Uh oh. She’s losing it. Likely, the culprit. Maybe, I just need to go back to bed. Sans sausage biscuit.