I have a full hour for lunch today, and thought I’d share a sad story. It doesn’t matter in the larger scheme of things, but it offers some insight into the nature of humans. Maybe I can use that in a story one day.
I live by the alarm clock during the work week. Animals seem to live by the solar clock. There are days during the year where we sync up. That has been the case for the last few weeks.
I start for work on a semi busy road called Star Road. It’s only busy during the commute, and still isn’t as bad as downtown. Where I turn, there is a hobby farm across the street from a wheat field. Every morning I see two domestic ducks the other side of the stoplight crossing the road. One is the typical white duck, the other bears mallard colors. They cross the street into the wheat field.
I imagine them like two old men spending their day in the wheat. The white one could be a female, for all I know. People give them the right of way, and they’re kind of cute. The white one started limping about two weeks ago. The mallard colored one always waits for him, and quacks for him to hurry up.
In some ways they remind me of the retired farmers who still go to the coffee shop every morning to gossip with the active farmers.
Today, these ducks were splattered all over the road. Not just the white one, but the best friend too. I can just see the greenhead quacking for his friend to watch out. It bothers me to a degree.
I’m not overly sentimental. I eat tasty animals, and that includes ducks. I’ve even harvested my own game, slaughtered chickens, and butchered beef. I know where my pork chop comes from, and that beaver fur in my cowboy hat probably wasn’t donated by the beaver. Leather belt and shoes, check, alligator wallet, check.
Those deaths happened for a reason. They were planned, and had purpose. Nobody benefited from the death of these ducks. They weren’t marauding sheep killers, poisonous snakes, or someone’s supper. It would have made more sense if someone stole them for dinner.
Somebody’s text message was too important. Perhaps someone accelerated and declared how many points they were worth. Humans are strange, and perhaps my feeling on this is strange too.
It doesn’t surprise me at all. I once had a guy pass me on the right, because I stopped for a blind man with a guide dog in a crosswalk. There is a school for the blind right downtown. This driver wasn’t concerned for a disabled person, he would have no problem running down a duck.
So I don’t know where I’m going with this. Maybe I can use this as a character trait one day. Maybe my own thoughts about this are usable too someday.