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“Thanks for the climb, Larry,” I say, patting his trunk. Austin’s feet hit the ground beside me, sending a small puff of dirt around our shoes.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “I heard a rip.”
“I’m fine,” I say, waving him off. “Just a little tear, no biggie.”
Austin bends down and pulls a small, plastic bag out of his backpack. “This way,” he says, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.
I follow Austin down a faded path. The long weeds try and grab at my pants, threatening to trip me. He stops beside the pond and I can see the ducks now. They cut swiftly through the water towards us. Austin opens the small Ziploc bag and pours some oats into my cupped hands. “Here,” he says. I watch as he sprinkles the oats into the water. The ducks swarm toward the treat, dipping their beaks into the pond and quacking their thanks. I toss a handful of oats in and watch them fall like confetti onto the water’s glossy surface.
“Whatever happened to feeding ducks bread?” I ask.
“Apparently it’s bad for them,” Austin says. He holds out the bag and pours more into my hands.
“Huh. That’s interesting.”
“I thought so, too.”
I pull out my phone to take a few pics. We make silly poses for each other as we each throw food into the water below. Then I put my phone away again.
A mommy duck swims over with seven little ducklings trailing behind her. I toss a handful of oats right in front of them. They gobble it up eagerly. A couple drakes notice the attention they’re getting and begin crowding out the mom and her babies. Their sleek green heads dip and push until the mama duck leaves. The two drakes flap in the water, each one fighting for attention.
Austin starts to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“Those male ducks right there, they’re both puffing out their chests, showing off, and squawking for your attention. They remind me of Jaron and Ethan.”
I open my mouth to protest, but as I watch the bigger one turn and snap at the smaller one, I can’t help but see the resemblance.
A small group of hens cluster together, making a lot of noise and occasionally snapping at each other.
“Who do you think they are?” Austin asks, pointing.
I watch the ducks for a minute and then begin to laugh. “That’s Taylor and her posse.”
Austin laughs back. “It totally is. And there’s your parents,” he says.
My eyes follow the invisible line his finger creates. A hen and a drake are swimming together, seemingly oblivious to the other ducks around them. I throw some oats in their direction. “Hey!” I call out. “Mom and Dad duck!” They turn and swimaway from me as fast as they can move. “Wow, that really is them,” I say. “Apparently the duck doppelgangers don’t want my attention either.”
“Ouch,” Austin says. “You just got burned by animals who swim in their own filth.”
I push him with my arm. “Shut up.”
Austin flashes me a cheesy grin. It reminds me of the nine-year-old version of Austin and I can’t help but laugh. I bend down and splash some pond water toward him. The ducks scatter at my sudden movement.
Austin jumps back in surprise, his mouth hanging open. “Oh, you did not just splash me,” he says.
“Oh, I think I did,” I say, bending down and splashing him again.
Austin pretends to stretch, then he quickly bends down and splashes me back. The icy water drips down my back. I jump up, squealing from the cold. Austin laughs and threatens to splash more.
“Truce,” I say, holding my hands up in surrender.
“You started it,” he chuckles.
I’m trying to figure out how I can get away with splashing him again when another duck catches my eye. A young mallard is zig-zagging through the flock, splashing the others and seemingly showing off. He dives under water and shortly later pops up, surprising another duck. “That one is Dylan,” I say laughing.
The ducks aren’t happy when we run out of oats. They quack loudly at us, before turning their tail feathers and speeding off. I swear the ducks were a lot fatter ten years ago. They probably don’t get fed very often anymore.
