Dead Ducks, A Cautionary Tale
So, a Monday or two back, I was in a cab on MLK Drive heading home from 30th Street after a long weekend in Montreal when me and cabbie's attention were both drawn toward the sky. There was a commercial jet flanked, on both sides, by military fighters. They were cruising toward Center City over the Schuylkill River. Not sure what it was all about since it apparently escaped press attention.
In any event, all of a sudden, we heard screeching in front of us and burnt-rubber smoke started wafting. Then, small figures rising and falling to the roadway. Turned out that the truck in front of us smacked straight into a family (or gaggle?) of ducks that was crossing the street. The long and short: A couple of the babies (chicks?) got killed and Momma Goose ran back out into the street to try and save them but it was too late. She was honking and screeching. It was bad.
The car in front of us took off like a bat out of hell (which is precisely where you go for doing such things), but it was among the more heartbreaking things I've ever seen.
Fast forward to 3 p.m. this afternoon. Me and Big Blue Corolla have zigged through the zagging construction route on Kelly when all of a sudden, the smoke and screeching is coming from us. Because there was a family of ducks crossing about a quarter mile up from Midvale. Luckily, I stopped with ample time and nobody tried to shoot around my car to save 30 seconds off their commute.
The moral of the story: Much like on the barrier islands where we all should stop for turtles crossing the road, keep your eyes peeled on Kelly for the birds so ye don't become a murderer.
Pictured below, the ducks from today (along with Big Blue's hood).