At the supermarket where I most commonly shop, one of the shopkeepers nearby rips up stale bread rolls and tosses them under one of the trees in the parking area. Birds cluster there in noisy flocks, waiting for their daily bread, mostly pigeons and a few seagulls, but the other day I was delighted to see a couple of ducks.
I’m very fond of ducks, as was my father. We even kept a few ducks when I was a kid, and of the various varieties we had, my favorite was the Khaki Campbell, a brown duck — ours were very friendly. And the ducklings were so sweet — little tortoiseshell bundles of fluff.
But these were wild ducks and though they looked a bit like Khaki Campbells, I knew they weren’t. That stripy head and their beautiful blue bills made that clear. I looked them up and they’re Pacific Black Ducks.
I’ve never seen them in this area before. They usually hang out near water, not in supermarket car parks, but we’d had a whopper of a storm the day before and there was still puddles everywhere, so I guess they felt at home. At any rate they happily devoured the bread, seemingly unbothered by the other birds, or by me, edging ever closer to take a photo.
It was just a little insignificant moment, but it really made me smile. Sometimes the smallest things can make my day.