… me up. I woke up early and was out the door in record time to arrive at Council Point Park before the Ecorse Creek cleaning crew volunteers arrived at 9:00 a.m. While walking the Park perimeter and deep in thought, the sound of quacking interrupted my woolgathering. I went to the water’s edge and stood behind a copse of trees. Soon, huge ripples appeared in the still water and a group of mallard ducks came out of nowhere. The leader of the pack was quacking noisily while the others were swimming placidly, not making a noise, queued up like a group of nuns walking to church and following one another in stony silence. From my vantage point I crouched down and opened the pocket of my sweatshirt and grabbed a bag of stale bread I crumbed up for them last night. I opened the bag and tossed out a few morsels, watching them skitter across the creek. Soon, there was a frenzy of activity as mallards started paddling fast and furiously to retrieve some morsels. In their haste to eat these unexpected treats, a cacophony of quacking began as they informed their pals that there was food, and not the usual bugs and grubs from the muddy waters of the Ecorse Creek. It seems they momentarily let their collective guard down in their glee to get at the goodies; they forgot that a human being might be present. Then, as if on cue, several of the ducks glanced around as if to say “thank you” even though their benefactor could not be seen in their line of sight. I reached into the bag and tossed another handful of crumbed-up bread and once again they look surprised but scrambled quickly, their wide, webbed feet treading and paddling furiously while quacking with great gusto. Some of the bread must have sunk down and I saw feathery butts making a quick duck dive to retrieve their breakfast. I wonder what reaction I might have gotten with donuts? It made me smile at their antics. My house is filled with ducks of every variety. My mom had an affinity for ducks and geese, which matched my affinity for teddy bears. Over the years, we visited every country store we could, and perused specialty catalogs as well until we amassed quite an assortment of resin, porcelain and wooden duck decoys in every shape and size which are now displayed throughout the house. The waterfowl doesn’t stop there – there are enough geese for a gaggle in the living room and the bedroom. Not everyone can say they have a red Pendleton tartan plaid, be-ribboned goose named Deloose guarding the hallway between the two bedrooms. And, because we ran out of shelves and tables for the ducks to sit on, there are pictures of ducks galore. As I watched the ducks feeding it made me feel like a kid again, back in High Park in Toronto where my parents took me on a Sunday drive to feed the ducks and swans. I got the same kick out of seeing them then as I did today. I tossed the third load of bread out and a resounding round of quacks thanked me for the effort. Feelin’ ducky after a 3 ¼-mile walk on an exhilaratingly cool day.