Mama Duck

[To my wonderful and amazing sister. Happy birthday!]

Mama Duck looked behind her. Her seven little ducklings had grown up quickly. It had only been six weeks, and they were almost the size of adults. Mama Duck was still worried, however, that they weren’t yet good enough flyers to attempt the migration south.

The happy family was currently swimming downriver, in the Norfolk Broads. It was pleasant here; it was warm yet rainy, you were never far from water. There were lots of safe places to make a nest, and there was never a shortage of humans with slices of bread at the ready. This area was perfect for ducks, at least in the summer.

But winter was coming. The days were getting shorter and the nights longer, and Mama Duck could feel the chill in the air. The time to migrate was coming, and she had to whip her no-good children into shape.

She quacked for them to stop, and they did. She flew away from the river and landed on the roof of an old cottage. She quacked for her children to follow. Four of them made the flight. Two of them had to make multiple attempts but still made it. The runt of the little still couldn’t after five tries. Mama Duck had a natural animal instinct to abandon the runt, but somewhere in her heart, a different voice was quacking for her to give it a little more time.

Her patience paid off. On the eighth try, it got the hang of it. Now they were all on the roof. Mama duck ruffled her wing feathers, and made a show of preparing to fly. The message to her children was simple; That was the easy part. Here comes something a bit more challenging.

She set off, flying higher and higher, heading straight south by her inbuilt compass. She turned her head to glance behind her, and all seven of her children were following. The runt was the farthest behind, but he was still keeping up. When he began to lose altitude or speed; that was when she’d worry.

This was not the migration. At least it won’t be if any of her children had a problem, which they likely would. In that case, she’d set them down and have a rest, and lots to eat, before they tried again. Mama Duck was going to get all seven of these ducklings south if it bloody killed her.

After only ten minutes flying, the runt began to falter, so they stopped in a forest, and ate, and rested, and slept. They next day, they were ready to go again. Mama Duck set off first, followed by the runt, who was now faster than the rest having gotten something to eat.

The family of eight flew without incident until they reached the ocean. From here on out, there was no land. Mama Duck had taught them how to ride on the currant of the wind, and there was always the option of swimming for a while if they needed to give their wings a break, which not many birds had the option of.

Even so, there could be no mistakes. There were predators under the ocean, and predators in the sky. Mama Duck kept a watchful eye out.

Her paranoia was well-grounded, when two hours into the migration, a hawk screeched and swooped in from above. Mama Duck quacked a warning, and the family scattered. Mama Duck weaved and dodged as her instincts commanded, until her heart kicked in and she quacked loudly to her children.

Worry gripped Mama Duck as she waited for her children to regroup. She was slightly believed that four of them turned up straight away. Then the other two appeared shortly after. But where was the runt? Oh no. Where was the runt?!

Mama Duck quacked in distress and heartbreak as she looked around frantically. She eventually spotted the hawk, flying away with a seagull. Her child was harder to spot but was flying towards her.

Mama Duck’s little ducky brain worked out what must have happened; the runt must have flown near another animal both easier to catch and larger, in the hope that the hawk would take that instead. Mama Duck’s heart swelled with pride. Her little runt wasn’t as fit as the others, but he was a very quick learner.

The rest of the migration was without incident.