The hungry duck

Today, Charlie and I went to the lake in Prospect Park to feed the ducks, swans, and pigeons.

We watched a little girl throwing bread, and Charlie, in his delight, moved very close to a hungry duck. He was pointing, pointing, pointing…and the duck bit his finger.

I’ve never been bitten by a duck, but I assume those hard beaks hurt. Charlie didn’t have a red mark on his finger, but you wouldn’t have known it from his wails, loud and piercing.

He cried big fat tears and buried his head in my shoulder, clinging to me. “The duck scared me,” his cries said. “And…the…duck…bit…me! Betrayed! Betrayed! After I have loved ducks my whole life!”

But my brave little Charlie did not let his violent encounter stop him from getting right up in the faces of the ducks and geese to chase them hither and yon. As soon as the tears stopped, he wanted to tell me all about the duck’s bite and then throw those little biters more food.


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