Dial 911 for Ducklings

So I called 911 yesterday. I can count on one hand the number of times I have dialed 911, and every time was a real emergency, including things like, oh, a carbon monoxide leak in the house or my husband collapsing unconscious. This time, however, was not quite a true emergency and I wasn’t sure how my call would be received…

So, you guys judge: I was driving to my every-6-weeks critically important hair salon appointment yesterday Saturday morning. I was on a busy route, a suburban mini-highway of sorts, with big box stores and strip malls all up and down. Everyone was out and about buying stuff, and traffic was heavy. 

Then, randomly, all the cars slowed and stopped. No traffic light. No accident, no police cars, no reason for us to be dead stopped there that I could see.

We just sat there for a minute. I noticed that not one car was honking or trying to push past. But, What the heck? 

Then I saw them: a mama duck and her brood, waddling confusedly in the middle of the road. It looked like she was trying to decide which way to go. On the right side of us, there was a large car dealership, featuring a lot of asphalt and industrial landscaping. On the other side, there was a little brook, with loads of trees and bushes. But in between the car dealership and the brook was this busy mini highway, with an impenetrable jersey barrier dividing the east and west lanes.… Oh no, poor mama! 

I could not see how she was going to get her brood across that barrier. Meanwhile she at least ceased waddling back and forth into the path of cars and started leading her ducklings close along the barrier. Maybe she can make it to a break, I thought. But it looked like it might be a long way until the next intersection and a merciful a gap in the concrete:

I thought about trying to help. But what could I do? Even if I managed to pull off off to the side, get out of my car and across the lanes to the barrier, I would have to somehow grab a protective mother duck who would no doubt put up a quacky, flappy fight. And even if I succeeded in securing said duck, which was highly unlikely, what would I do then? Throw her over the barrier into oncoming traffic? Followed by handfuls of panicky ducklings? 

Nope. In my assessment, we needed some authorities involved. So I maneuvered to the right and pulled into the car dealership, parked, took a deep breath, and called 911. 

“What’s your emergency?” barked the very no-nonsense-sounding operator. 

I started with my name and where I was, and then just dove right in, “This is going to sound kind of dumb I’m sure, but there’s a… traffic obstruction… that I’m worried might cause an accident.” I kind of paused there.

She seemed to be waiting. “What’s the obstruction, ma’am?”

Oookay, I had to spit it out and hope I didn’t get spit at. “So, it’s a mother duck trying to get across the highway with her ducklings. And I know that sounds silly, and to be honest all the cars have stopped for her, but there’s a length of jersey barrier here, and there’s no way she can get over it, and I think this might cause a problem…” I kind of waited to be laughed at. 

And the operator did laugh, but not in a mean way: “Well, at least people stopped for them. That gives me some faith in humanity. Would have been terrible if they’d just been run down. Which wouldn’t shock me, given some of the stuff I hear about every day.” 

I was kind of surprised to hear the 911 operator muse in this way, but I had to agree. “Me too! And I couldn’t drive on by without making some kind of effort to help, which is why I called. I don’t want to pass by here on the way home and see dead baby ducks in the road.” 

Operator: “Yes, yes I can understand that. And, we also hope that there isn’t an accident as a result of the wildlife in the roadway. I will send someone over there right away, okay?” 

“Okay! Thanks so much, have a great day!” I responded and we hung up. 

Later, even though I didn’t need to go that way to get home, I took that route, scanning the road for any roadkill. Didn’t see any. But there was no way to tell what had happened. Did the police actually show up to help? Did the mama get her brood across the street? Or did she backtrack to the side she came from and find some other water source? I sure hoped so. 

What’s the point of this post? The larger, deeper meaning? Yeah, I don’t know. I just know I haven’t posted in a REALLY long time: 4 months! Which is the longest I’ve gone without posting since I started this random blog back in 2011. So, I was determined that this weekend, I’d pick something– anything– real that happened and write about it. There you go.

As an aside: Writing this light little piece, I learned something. There are multiple accepted collective nouns one can use to refer to a group of ducks. A flock or team of ducks refers to ducks in flight. A waddling refers to ducks on land. (Waddling! Perfect!) A brace of ducks refers to dead ducks, like, being carried by a hunter. And ducks on water can be a paddling or a raft. Words! How awesome!