On my way home from school the other day I was reminded why I’ve always loved this neighborhood. Our community is situated next to a pond which is home to a large flock of waterfowl. Sometimes they look like geese to me and sometimes ducks and in fact the pond may have both. By now you’ve figured out I’m not what you would call NatureGirl but I really like these birds no matter what they are.
It is a fairly common sight to see the ducks (let’s go with ducks) crossing the main road of the neighborhood. Once one starts across they all follow and there are many of them. For the twenty years I have lived here, it is the unspoken rule to wait for the ducks to cross if you encounter them while driving. It’s actually an adorable sight, the parents hurrying the little ones along with their attentive waddle, and from beginning to end it probably takes a minute and a half to two minutes for the procession to pass.
Over the years I have seen school buses stop and wait, parents screaming at their kids in SUVs stop and wait, mail trucks stop and wait, everyone always watches and waits. Today the car ahead of me paused at the sight of the ducks in the middle of the road and then BLASTED ITS HORN. I couldn’t believe it. It was the neighborhood equivalent of kicking the cane out of an old lady’s hand. The ducks all started flapping and panicking, even the ones who were already safely across, with those stranded in the roadway waddling around in agitated circles not knowing what to do.
As soon as there was enough of an opening, the motorist flew through. When the ducks got their wits about them they realized I was letting them proceed so they all settled down and started the parade again. I was probably watching and waiting about 20 seconds when the car that had pulled up behind me gave his horn an impatient tap. I ignored him. I figured as soon as he paid attention and looked around he would know why we weren’t moving. Wrong. He tapped his horn again a little harder. The scene I was fantasizing about was me walking over to his car, leaning into the window and saying, “Hi! How’re you doing? Hey, can you show me some proof you’re not a dickhead?”
But before I could go with the impulse he threw his car into reverse, peeled around me, and plowed right into the ducks. It was horrible. They flipped out even worse than they had with the first moron because this time they were literally scrambling for their lives. They collided with each other, some fell onto their necks in their rush to save themselves and their babies, and the air was scattered with feathers like so many snowflakes. The cretin driver never looked back.
Another driver in the line behind me got out of his car when I did and we both made sure the flock crossed safely. He was as disturbed as I was. But not as disturbed as the dickhead driver’s going to be because I remember his car exactly and this is a small neighborhood. The ducks may soon forget but the dick will be reminded.
Daughter’s Featured Fotos offer various illustrations of That Neighborhood Feeling
ben yehuda market, jerusalem
tel aviv through the trees
trippy suburbia Robert Selwyn’s Houses & Newscasters DFN Gallery, NYC
yankee-fan-bike-chauffeur anyone?