A small story:

I'm walking around the Silver Lake reservoir this morning, which is to say I'm listening to a true-crime podcast and covertly taking pictures of those mask-free miscreants when I come around a bend and see a family walking together.

They are not wearing masks.

This is acceptable, as they are ducks.

A few non-ducks are gathered around the mother, getting in a quick photo shoot. I stop, gather some data from the closest human. The mother and ducklings had been in her yard and had decided to head to the reservoir today, crossing busy streets.

This woman and her ducklings, sorry, children had acted as her security guards to the reservoir but now were stuck because Mother Duck couldn’t figure out how to get the kids over the low wall. We debated options.

The duck mostly just tried to pretend we didn’t exist.

Every few minutes she would start trying to purposefully stride away from us, towards walkers whose mask status was now far less critical than how many were walking dogs with high prey drives. I developed a crablike defensive scuttle to keep them with us, away from canine death.

Two other women were pulling the fencing away from the wall, hoping to show her the way. Another woman whispered, "Come on, mama. The door's right here."

She paced back and forth, the babies waddling behind her. Often, her escape was directly above her but she didn't see it.

I would have been more excited about the life metaphor being shoved in my face were it not for my own life metaphor of hunching and trying to save someone from them own bad ideas.

One of the women pulling the fence away had a Scottish accent.

For reasons I can't explain, this made her more credible.

"We need," she decided, "A skateboard, or something which will serve as a ramp."

One of the children donated their scooter which, while generous, was not a skateboard and just alarmed her further.

(By "Her," of course, I mean the duck. Scottish women don't get alarmed is something I just realize I believe)

Not surprisingly, neighbors had been watching our progress from their kitchen windows. One woman brought out a large "Thank you First Responders" sign and some bread. I thanked her for the sign and told her as delicately as I could that ducks don't actually need bread.

We lay the sign against the wall, to create a ramp.

You already know that the mother duck completely ignored its ramp potential and just hid underneath it. We were a little surprised, which is odd, because we had already spent twenty minutes with this duck and should have known.

("Why didn't you call anyone from the city?" Hi, it's called COVID. There are no gatekeepers, metaphorical or otherwise, right now)

Another neighbor walked out carrying a largish cardboard box and some gloves. The three of us who had become the project managers quickly decided we'd lift the sign, I'd grab Mom, they'd grab the babies, minutes from now everyone is living their best life.

We lifted the sign.

I assumed the rules were the same with trying to capture a cat:

1. Move with confidence,
2. Wear gloves,
3. Think of nothing, because they can read your mind.

I breathed and, thinking nothing, reached for her.

You know what's fun?

How cats can't fly.

In seconds she was up and over the fencing, down the steep embankment, on the water, quacking. We had no time to regroup, as the ducklings were heading quickly and pointlessly every which way. We scooped and dropped, scooped and dropped, until they were all boxed.

The other woman pulled back the fence, pushed the box through gently, tried to lay it down carefully.

PLUNK.

Oh, well.

A second later, the ducklings swarmed out and headed right, then down the embankment. Two seconds after that a final duckling waddled out, turned left.

"The other way!" we whisper-screamed, "LOOK THE OTHER DIRECTION."

We couldn't see them because the embankment is steep but Lefty seemed understand, "Oh, right." He waddled off, then down.

We saw nothing.

"She wouldn't have just left without them," one woman said.

The "...would she?" was implicit.

We waited.

Life is pretty bleak right now. Intellectually, I understand that news got much, much worse once there were 24-hour news channels because you gotta keep those eyeballs to the next ad and nothing is stickier than fear.

But things really suck right now.

I don't know anyone, anywhere on the political spectrum, who feels as if the world is more light than dark and the darkness has an odor like someone microwaved fish, so even when it's not really dark, you're still sniffing darkness.

I don't know anyone who isn't heartbreakingly desperate for a little light.

“I SEE THEM!” the woman who had scaled the fencing shouted. She pointed; a second later, we saw them.

We shrieked and danced around for a few seconds, giving each other virtual high fives, marveling at the mother duck's economy of motion, keeping the kids in line, safe. We watched the ducks until they were too small to see, and then watched a bit more.

And now, THE AD! If you like these Small Stories, can I coax you into helping to support them? I promise to find you a skateboard. https://www.patreon.com/user?u=4846197