On Saturday, 20 May 1995, Jacky and I explored Salzburg. We saw the town where Mozart was born, the Zwerglgarten at Schloß Mirabell, the Festung, enjoyed the day. But the real adventure happened while we were strolling along the river pathway.
The Salzach rolled along, swift and strong, below steep grassy banks that rose to the path. We were at a place where the pedestrian walk split, one side rising in a ramp to join the street at the bridge, the other side remaining level to pass under the bridge. The uphill side was about two meters above the lower path. Jacky noticed a duck on the higher path, just as it half-jumped, half-flew, down to the lower path. Then we saw the ducklings, five little guys who had been right there behind Mother on the high path. With no hesitation at all, absolute trust in Mother’s judgment, they walked right over the edge! – and all five, perfectly aimed, went into a trash basket next to a park bench on the lower level.
Mother, with nary a backward glance, went across the lower path, down into the grass by the river, and on into the water.
We had taken the upper path, but when we saw what had happened, went back down. I took the trash basket out of its holder and laid it down on its side, facing the river, thinking the little guys would come out and head for the grass. No such luck; they just huddled together as far back as they could get. I wanted a picture of this, so I asked Jacky to tip the basket up far enough to dump them out. One of them may have been hurt by the fall; he lay on his back waving his legs in the air, seemed to have trouble getting back on his feet.
And instead of heading for the water, they huddled into the corner of the wall and the bench. Stupid birds! Well, maybe if we back away, they’ll lose their fear and do a little exploring, discover the grass and the river. Or maybe Mother will come back and collect them.
No. Mother knew she’d mislaid a clutch of ducklings somewhere, but she didn’t have the mental horsepower to figure out where. She paddled up to some other ducks on the river, asked them whether they’d seen any orphan ducklings around. But alll they said was, “Quack!” Mother returned to the area below us, but she didn’t leave the river’s edge.
Meantime, the ducklings had indeed left the corner by the bench; but instead of coming out into the open, they were scurrying along the wall, keeping as close as ever they could.
This would never do. I walked down, got in front of them, turned them back. I got Jacky to block the way in the other direction. Surely with both directions along the wall blocked, they’d turn across the path and go into the grass.
No. They were willing to nestle safely on Jacky’s shoe! This was even better: soft and warm! But they wouldn’t cross the path, wouldn’t go to the water.
At that point, we decided to let nature take her course. Not much more we could see to do. So we backed away off, just watched to see what would happen. The little guys were still scurrying along against the wall.
Tragedy struck, in the form of a big black crow. As it swooped in, I started running, and another guy on the other side started running, and there was nothing anyone could do. The crow snatched one, flew off with it to a riverside rock a hundred meters downstream, started tearing it apart.
Nature taking her course is fine, but I didn’t realize it would be quite this red in tooth and claw. What now?
The other guy, who had been observing, got into the act. He unfolded his umbrella, and shooed the four survivors into it. Over to the rail; he tried to dump them into the grass, but an umbrella isn’t shaped quite right for dumping ducklings while leaning over a rail.
And yet a third guy got involved – this was turning into quite a team effort. He climbed over the rail, took the umbrella. Jacky yelled, “Die Mutter ist da,” and pointed. The guy went down to the riverside near Mother, and unloaded the cargo.
Mother was instantly content – unlikely she can count beyond two. Into the water, the little guys right behind her, drafting her wake against the strong current. After a minute, she quit fighting the current, turned and went downstream with her brood right behind.
View Guestbook
Jacky’s home
Dave’s home
View old guestbook
Email: 