Quacking Quietly

Wilbert is our lot duck. That's the best way to describe him. He has been hanging around in the parking lot here at our apartment building for the past month or so. He barely moves out of the way when you drive by. He seems to be on a first name basis with everyone in our rather large complex. He is one of those blazing-green mallards with bright orange feet. His inconspicuously-colored mate and probably her eggs secreted up in the rocks near the building. I found my heart going out to the dutiful partner; the singular monogamous devotion that is so rare in the animal kingdom. Truly, we can learn a lot from Wilbert, I thought. What a thankless job, parading around a parking lot trying to distract predators. It got to the point where I was so used to seeing him around, that I started looking forward to my encounters with him. I asked him what he thought about the economy once and he quacked quietly, which I think is the best response I have heard yet. In fact, the next time someone asks YOU about your financial situation, just quack quietly. It is the best response you can give. He had the same thing to say about the environment, the fate of polar bears and the ridiculous democratic in-fighting that just may lose them the next election and doom us to Republican tyranny for another four years. Yesterday as I was leaving for work I saw Wilbert sitting in the center of a parking space, unmoving, next to something. Knowing that this was approaching heartbreaking territory didn't stop me from walking forward. Sure enough, someone had flattened the female duck (she was a flat pile of tawny feathers) and Wilbert was still dutifully protecting her. I wanted to scream, punch someone, pick the poor animal up and comfort him, tell him that there are other fish in the… well, ducks in the pond and that it was a tragic accident that has no explanation. Parking lots are heartless, merciless places. Shaken to the core, I called the BF and explained what happened to poor Wilbert. He was heartbroken as well. I was on my way to the park and ride and there wasn't much I could do. I told the BF to do something, like call animal control. I didn't know if they would respond to the heartbreaking call or not, but I felt like we should do something. The BF explained that he would do something. Later I called to find out what that was. "I prayed for him," he said. That gave me pause. The cynical side of me jumped out with "Well that'll help." But there was serene silence from him in response. I amended that with "It can't hurt." It really can't. When I returned from spending twelve hours with my friend in the HCMC emergency room (exactly twelve years to the day when I was wheeled in there after being shot by my friend) I noticed that the female's remains were gone, and so was Wilbert. I hope he's okay. Maybe he found another female to watch over. He's really good at it. Maybe he jumped back into the pond to start all over like so many of us vow to do after losing a loved one for whatever reason. I know he's quacking quietly somewhere about the steady decline of the United States of America, like I plan on doing from now on.