Make Way for Ducklings

One minute, we were chatting and the next minute, Philipp was running into the middle of the street, flapping his arms and yelling.

What the hell? I thought. Then, suddenly, eight little strangers appeared from in front of the car he was charging at: a mama duck and seven ducklings. As Phil shouted, they waddled frantically across the road, and then staggered back; seeming to have no idea what was going on. All was chaos as the ducks ran, Philipp ran, and soon Becky, Lauren and I ran, too; shouting and throwing our hands up at the cars and trying as best we could to get the bewildered mother and her snaking tail of babies out of the road.

It was soon apparent that the mother was leading all of them on a haphazard waddle of death. From the center of the road, she charged towards the busy intersection at Lincoln and Halstead. The babies followed in chaotic tandemn, one of them almost falling down a grill. Becky covered her eyes. Philipp threw himself in front of the mama’s path into the crossing and next thing we knew they were back in the middle Halstead again; this time running under the rickshaw of a driver who tried to block their path with his vehicle. Frantic, the mother turned back towards the sidewalk.

Just then, Becky shrieked. One of them fell down the grill!

And it was true, upon doubling back, the last one had tumbled through the grate.

Oh, god, I said, listening to the frantic peeping from within and imagining it’s fright. What do we do? What do we do?

I called out to the passers by, who were by now watching the scene. What is the number for the Chicago police? Finally, someone called back 311, it’s 311!  I dialed and feeling a little silly, I shouted the situation to the operator. In between transfers, I shouted the situation to the others. And one is down the grate! I shrilled. Just as I said that, a heroic man stooped and in superhero mode, pried the top loose with a few good tugs and scooped up the crying peeper. It scuttled away to join the family.

We half herded, half trailed the ducks into a bank parking lot. They waddled all along the fence, but, finding no exit, the family grouped up by a concrete wall, seemingly traumatized, exhausted and in need of a rest.

Establishing the Duck Guard

We took up posts on either side of the resting ducks. Moments before, I had finally reached a sympathetic operator at the police who agreed to forward my message to animal control.  We agreed to camp out here and prevent the ducks from moving back out.

As some sort of peace prevailed over the situation, we were able to look at our new feathered friends. We were enchanted by the adorable, fluffy little beings. The babies were absolutely tiny and covered all over by downy, fluffy yellow and brown feathers. We were enchanted. We couldn’t stop the awwwwwwwws that kept rupturing from us; the minute one person stopped, the next one started. Phlipp took out his camera and started filming the babies from all angles. I gasped at a particularly cute one who was head bobbing like someone in an achingly dry history class—he would fall asleep, his tiny head would roll forward and then, suddenly, he’d jerk awake again. Though resting in a little clump, they were constantly in motion, clambering over one another and then falling asleep; wiggling tail feathers, peeping and then dozing.

We could have watched them for hours, but when the time literally seemed to turn into hours, I decided to call the police again to check for animal control’s status. Contrary to the first report, this operator said that they had no idea what animal control had done with the message or even if the office was open.

We decided we’d have to try and move them ourselves. Philipp went to hunt down a box.

On the Move Again

As soon as Philipp left, the crazed mama duck decided it was time to move her troops out. Oh no, Oh no, said Becky as they evaded our attempts to block their path and started waddling frantically towards what Mama thought was freedom and what we guessed was death.

At this point, I had determined the mama duck to be off of her rocker. She had no symmetry or reason to her path, simply charging on ahead as her babies struggled along behind her. If she had seven babies now, I guessed she must have started with about fourteen so terrible was her parenting. I really felt like duck welfare needed to be called in.

Somehow, we kept them in the lot until Philipp returned with a box. I had found an old blanket heaped in the lot’s corner. Ready? I asked.

We went for the babies first, all of us a little terrified of the deranged mama and secretly overjoyed we had given ourselves permission to scoop up the tinies. They were fluffy, wriggly and adorable. We scooped up five pretty quickly, but the last two, by now severely worked up darted in and out of our legs. At this point, a group of drunk partiers on a balcony had began to watch our chase. Duck kidnappers! They yelled alongside play by play—oh, now it’s through the legs, oh, now it’s escaping—it’s free, fuckers! Take that!

When all the babies were finally captured we realized Mama had vanished through the fence shortly after Phil had thrown the blanket in her direction.

Fuck, Phil said.

We can’t separate them, Becky said.

Mama quacked from the other side of the fence, the babies peeped piteously, the drunk audience hollered insults and the four of us stood immobile. What the hell do we do now?

We aren’t going to catch the mom. That much was clear.

We’ll have to let them go.

There was nothing else to do. We admitted defeat. We’d have to leave the family to fend for itself in the alley in the middle of Chicago. We tipped out the box to the audience’s wild whooping. Then, one of them called down: What? Now you’re letting them go? What the hell? What was all that for! Duck abandoners!

Soon, all had joined in. They thought they were hilarious.

Phil turned on them as we began to walk away from the situation. He threw his arms out at them and yelled up at the balcony:

Why don’t you catch them yourselves! Come down here! Yeah—come down!

He then took a different route. You know what? Your advice cost me my dinner! I was going to eat them! He shouted. In fact, I already ate the Dad!

And with that, what else could we do but walk away?