LAST QUACK

     Judith Anne held the duck in her lap and rolled down the window of the slowly moving automobile.  Her plan was working.
     Earlier, soon after her entry in the 4-H spring show had won a blue ribbon, the family discussed the impending move which would end their semi-country lifestyle.
     She'd raised the duck from a yellow duckling.  Ordinarily, she would take a winning animal home or it would have already been sold.  The farm was alive with chickens, geese, ducks, lambs and larger livestock to go with a variety of dogs and cats.
     That was all ending, fast and furiously as each of them dealt with this transfer to an urban setting.  When her father suggested having "roast duck" in jest, Judy asked if they could drive "a turn" around the lake before going home.
     Setting the duck on the edge of the open window, Judy whispered.
     "Petey, it is time to flee, time to be free."
     The name had always been derided, since the duck was a female.
     "Petey, don't be afraid.  You are a duck but we can't have a duck in Indianapolis. You'll be safe here...people feed ducks here...."
     Judith nudged the duck and it fell , flapped to a beak-first landing, stood and quacked.
     Petey had never seen a large body of water.  The next morning, she wasn't far from where she'd landed, sitting near the edge of the lake.  Her feathers were reflectively white and obviously trimmed to show.
     A jogger attempted to chase the duck, figuring it would go into the water.  Petey simply ran further along the bank.
     For two days and nights, Petey wandered only a short distance.  Two boys on bicycles stopped, dropped the bikes and chased after the duck.  When they changed tactics and approached from opposite directions, Petey was forced to go into the lake.  Within a second she was safely away.  Except for the stuff the boys began throwing, but she was out of their no-throwing arms range.
     Once she was paddling around on the lake, a flock of canada geese noticed.  Nineteen formed a semi-circle around the newcomer, twenty-feet from shore.  They watched from a few yards distance, doing goose-gurgle observations.  They soon lost interest and swam away.
     Petey still spent most time out of the water.  For a few more days she stayed closeby.  The jogger ran down towards her and she flew into the water.  "Good you're going into the lake with the getter-punks that rampage this place at night," he thought.
     When the smattering of mallards finally got hip to Petey, things changed fast.  First, all the drakes approached, while the hens kept their distance.  Eventually, Petey was a welcome member in the flock.  She was soon imitating the bobbing action needed to feed from underwater vegetation.
     The mallard flock inhabited all of the lake, the center island, under the connecting bridge, the steep banks on the south edge, the sand beaches on the north and everything in between. As the season progressed, the white duck kept regular company with seven mallards, four drakes and three hens.   They roosted together, fed together and swam togther, often with Petey in the back which resembled a white tug pushing gray barges.
     A migrating white egret saw Petey and perched on the limb of a large oak collapsed into the lake.  For some time, he watched.  From across the lake, she appeared as his reflection.  Many hours passed before the bird realized there was no way this one was going to leave the lake and fly away.
     "That white duck" was observed by many walkers, joggers and the circle of drivers and riders.  None knew where it came from but it was obviously having a good life at the lake.  A few worried for it, thinking of the coming winter season and the pack of coyotes which had managed to catch and devour an aged beaver two winters back.   
     Soon after the first snowfall, the geese began to leave.  The last to fly away were the three dozen yearlings from the six spring nests. 
     When the ice began to form, the mallards started their migration.  Petey's group was the last to leave.  As the space beneath the bridge became the last to freeze, she stayed there.  More snow fell and covered the lake and island.  Some farther north geese landed for awhile, on their way south.  Petey walked over to see them but they soon flew on.
     Tempratures dropped and ice closed the last area of open water.  Petey, weakened and thin moved onto the island and bedded under a small pine tree.
     A week later, the jogger noticed a single row of fox tracks crossing the lake, angling towards the bridge.  "Later on, white duck," he mumbled as he passed, figuring the worst but hoping for better.