And somehow, 4 of them ended up in a sewer drain in DC earlier this week.
But wait, before you get upset, know that this story has an ADORABLE conclusion.
So, Monday morning, a duck with one little duckling at her side starts going crazy– squawking like mad at sewer drain in an alley. At the sight of this, in a city where people sport Ipods continually to avoid confrontation with crazies or the homeless, the ducks apparently got DC residents to stop in wonder. Residents called city agencies for help, and three nearby firefighters from a station the next alley over came by and removed the sewer drain to see what all the commotion was about. Lo and behold, 4 more little ducks struggling to swim in the water just below.
The duck family was reunited and brought to animal control for a check up. They’ll be released into a friendlier location soon.
Here’s a picture of the mother being held over the baby ducks. Now, call me crazy, but she’s totally smiling. And mind you, I don’t really even like birds. (That whole, birds are dinosaurs! thing totally creeps me out.)
Click the picture for more ridiculously cute pictures--including a firefighter showing how they were rescued. Ham it up, alright. We can't get enough cute news.
Adorable, right? Gah, love it.
I think my mom has secret worries about me getting married and having children. And when I say “secret” I mean obvious concerns, most notably when she tells me that she hopes to have grandchildren at an age where she “can still pick them up,” for example.
When I lived in Texas and had to fly back east for holidays, she’d always tease (or perhaps pray) that I’d meet a rich and charming “oil tycoon” aboard the plane who would just whisk me away. Apparently, I would be flying in a plane built by the Wright Brothers as well, but that’s besides the point. My mother has always hoped for a rich, handsome man in my future and probably fears that my feminist and liberal nature will keep me from locking down the type of catch she has in mind.
And so now, after a long-term failed relationship under my belt and no grandchildren bouncing upon her knee, my mother seems to be taking a new approach. This evening, she let me know that oil is out and green energy is in. As a result, she has launched her new “green man” campaign. “You know, one of those green men with the fields,” she says. (It’s classic my mom to only have half of the idea formulated and to fill the rest of the sentence with phrases like “you know” and “that thing”.) No word yet on where or how I’ll find him, but no worries. “He’s out there,” she says. “Just you wait, you’ll see.”
Later on in the conversation, we somehow came upon the topic of ocean windmills. A surprising direction for a chat with my mom to go in considering that we started the hour detailing the ingredients in the clam chowder she and my grandmother made over the weekend (“I know you don’t like clam chowder, but it just wasn’t right the first time we had it. It needed more potatoes and carrots and stuff,” she says.) When I asked a few logistical questions about this new technology (do they float? what’s the cost?), she responded matter-of-factly with, “Well I don’t know, but see–you can ask your green man about it! There’s a conversation starter for you!”
“Ya know what? You’re right, Ma,” I say. “You found a way to bring it back. Thanks.”
Oh sweet windmills, you are the key...