Mavis and Tucker

No one would find it as interesting as I do, I'm sure, but there are two ducks in our pool.  Of course I have named them. You can't adore a living thing without giving it a name. Mavis returns every year, but she always brings a new beau, at least that is what the duck experts say, and I can't tell her lovers apart. This year it is Tucker. Tucker is a handsome duck for sure, that Mavis really knows how to pick them!


I hear them out there in the early mornings, softly quacking, almost a sleepy grunting kind of quack.  I look out my bedroom window and see them paddling around in the pool.  Oval wet spots sporadically dot the concrete around the pool.  Sometimes I hear splashing and look out to see them in the full throes of ...bathing, no not mating, merely bathing, bobbing under the water, then stretching up in an almost flight position, using wings and feet to propel water to every inch of their feathered round bodies.  Other times I don't hear them and I will look out and see them sitting quietly on the grass or cement, in a peaceful repose, enjoying the soft filtering light of early morning. 

It is always early morning, because by 7:00 they have been thoroughly barked up and away by my fearless terrier, Lulu.  Lulu is trying to form a peaceful relationship with them, but poor thing, just can't control herself 90% of the time.  But that 10% is fun to watch.  She sits in the house, looking out the sliding glass door at the ducks.  It is a tense posture, not a relaxed perch by any means.  Her doggie door sits right there, waiting for her to dart out of it at 30 MPH.  But instead, she just sits there and watches.  Maybe she goes out, slowly, then she sits on the step, just watching.  I wonder what is going on in her head.

The other morning there was a ruckus.  Splashing beyond the norm woke both Lulu and I up.  Lulu hopped (literally hopped) onto the bedspread and started growling at my window.  I am on the second floor and all she could see was tree-tops, but she knew Mavis and Tucker were up to something.  Expecting to see them in a passionate twist, I looked out and was suprized to see Tucker, in the pool, fighting with another duck, we'll call him Ivan.  Tucker and Ivan were fully going at it, trying to maim each other.  Mavis stood on the grass and watched, probably rooting for Tucker, but unable to assist. 

Lulu couldn't stand it.  She tore down the stairs and leaped, at full speed out her doggie door, barking for all her life was worth and took off after Mavis, because she was the only land - based duck.  Mavis was so aggitated she almost didn't get away and finally flew into the pool.  Tucker and Ivan didn't even look up, but kept pummeling each other with their wings and bills.  Lulu ferociously barked from the side lines (she refuses to get wet if at all possible), and the ducks moved about.  They flew out of the pool and landed just about 12 feet from Lulu who took off again, and really just missed catching Mavis by about 1 foot.  It was spectacular!

I told my boys about it when they woke up.  But they lacked the enthusisam I had about the incident.  They were interested, sure, but just not engaged. 

So this is where the honesty part comes in.  This is one of the things I really miss about being married.  I miss having someone who listens to you and is engaged in your life, your stories, your interests, and your unimportant details.  I wanted to tell the incident to everyone I saw that day - but I didn't tell anyone besides my boys.  Why?  Because why would anyone else care?  They haven't watched me fall in love with Mavis and Tucker.  They haven't witnessed me saying good night to them each night before I head up to bed, and saying good morning each day as I greet the day.  They just wouldn't get it. 

I miss telling someone my stupid, wierd, and insignificant dreams.  I miss having someone ask about my day, and really - REALLY - wanting to know the answer.  I miss being that person to someone else.  The person they tell about the dumb driver who cut them off on their way to work in the morning.  I miss being the person that listens to 25 minutes of boring business meeting talk just to find out that it was the guy in India that caused the whole problem in the first place because he didn't follow procedure.  I don't miss that because of the conversation, I miss it because of the connection.  I miss that connection.  And no matter what anyone else says, no matter what the books say, all the friends in the world are not the same as that one person who really understands why you love the stupid ducks who poop on your concrete in your backyard.