It’s a ducky kind of life, sometimes you just get screwed

Somedays, we just go along, seemingly without paying attention, which is particularly great when you happen to be on spring break and it’s a pretty, unseasonably warm Sunday in March.

Then the random happens.

To those who know me well enough, I seem to be a magnet for random.

And so went my Sunday. We were invited to go to Gatlinburg with my folks last minute this morning. And so we went. After lunch, we browsed around, working our way through back alleys toward the river that flows through town. In making our way up the back road, some ducks caught my eye.

I have always loved ducks, since the summer fair when I was little. I could stand for hours watching them huddle under the heat lamp, straining for the dangling seed, unsuccessfully being pushed off the platform and down the slide into the water, and on and on.

If only I didn’t like ducks.

If only I didn’t see the ducks.

So we followed the ducks upriver, and they got pretty close to us on the bank next to the railing. Then one mallard started chasing another…into the road, under parked cars, back onto the sidewalk. He kept biting at her neck while she wiggled away.

Then he mounted her.

On the sidewalk.

In front of my mother.

And we just gawked in startled silence.

Awkward is not the right word.

Duck porn? I doubt I will ever watch the baby ducks at the fair in the same way again. In a weird way it was much, much worse than going to a movie with your parents that turns out to have an intimate scene that just makes you want to run screaming. I thought maybe being a parent whose been on the other side of that experience would make something like this easier for me.

Nope, still weird.

Poor ducky.

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