Apr 7, 2004

The Duck Attack

The other day, when I came back from my viola lesson, I went out to the lake near my house to relax, and to talk to someone on my cell phone.
I was walking toward the bench next to the lake, when a feathery missile hurtled past me. It was a duck. The freaking duck had attacked me, missing by mere centimeters.
Later, while I was talking on my phone, another duck (or possibly the same one) began to approach me from the lake. It was just waddling toward me, quacking every few steps.
All in all, it was seemed remarkably like a teacher of mine (whom I will not name here).
It got to within about a foot of me, at which point I fled to the relative safety of the other side of the bench, fearing that it would produce a machine gun, or perhaps a spool of piano wire from beneath its wings.
There's something about these ducks at our lake that's really creepy. A year or two ago, I was going for a walk around the lake at around nine or so. It was dark, and all I had was a penlight on my keychain. The ducks were all on the lake, sleeping.
Or so I thought.
As soon as I passed the large, dark, mass of fowl, they awoke, and began to silently follow me.
They were led by the Grey Duck, a huge monstrosity of a bird who looked as though she was perpetually mad at everyone and everything.
Even in daylight, she was scary, charging at anyone who approached her domain (which was really the entire lake).
But here, at night, it was downright terrifying. They moved in concert down the lake, keeping pace with me precisely.
Eventually they lost interest, or at least appeared to, but I had a feeling the the Grey Duck had sent a few duck commandos after me, darting from tree to tree behind me.
On my way back, I was walking home on the other side of the lake, and it is a truly chilling sight to see about thirty or forty ducks detach themselves from the opposite side of the lake, and move, army-like, inexorably toward you.
I stopped to watch, rather like a deer stops to admire the headlights of the 18-wheeler barreling toward it. Taking out my penlight, I played it over the dark, feathered, mass drifting slowly toward me.
It seemed to my slightly nervous mind that they were glaring at me.
The newspaper headlines ran through my mind:

Boy Disappeared Near Lake, Bloody Feather Found
Investigators Finally Get Lead On Duck Mafia

As the ducks hit the water's edge, they began to scramble out of the water. A small group accumulated on the edge, then they all began to move towards me.
That's when I started to walk faster, into the dark night.

So anyways, long story short, I just barely escaped. I am definately never going for a walk at night again. They missed me once. They won't miss again...

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