Baby Swans

After the latest Christchurch earthquake, we were forced to move out of our house (the landlady seemed to think we had “utterly destroyed” it—I'd be insulted, but moving was easier than arguing). After a road trip from hell that involved a car with luggage flying off the roof (really), we would up renting a new place near Wellington, which is far enough away that we can't feel the frequent aftershocks—except the ones from Japan.

A few days later we started exploring the area, which in my daughter's vocabulary translates to “visiting every library within 200 miles and checking out 50 books from each.” One library was in Whitby, which has one of those fakey man-made ponds that developers dig so they can sell “beachfront” houses at inflated prices. And in the middle of that pond were two big black swans with three little gray babies.

Now I know you've all read “The Ugly Duckling.” I don't want to spoil your illusions, but that story is NOT scientifically accurate. It turns out that baby swans don't speak English. Also, they aren't ugly, they're fluffy. And cute. (Of course, I think anything fluffy is cute. Except tarantulas, which are hairy, not fluffy. And anything with that many legs isn't natural; it should be locked up in Area 51 and dissected. In fact, that's probably where they came from; it's no accident that tarantulas are found in the desert, is it? The damn things are ALIENS.)

Anyway, back to the swans…

We didn't have a camera with us, so I decided to take my fancy expensive model over there the next day and get some cute-baby pictures before the dang things grew up and turned into boringly gorgeous adults. I had a bright idea, too: I would bring some bread so I could trick them into coming close.

Now you'd think I could manage to find some bread on my own. But my wife doesn't trust me in the kitchen. She thinks she has to do everything for me, even if it's finding a can of Coke in the fridge. That might have something to do with the whole war-between-the-sexes thing. Or it might be related to the fact that the last time I tried to make toast (in 1997), I set the teakettle on fire, melted everything in the freezer, and shattered a cast-iron skillet.

Anyway, I told her that I needed a “couple” (that's a direct quote) of slices of bread, just enough to lure the swans into range. But my wife is the sort who will invite a family of two to dinner and present them with a turkey, a ham, a prime rib, six lobsters, a huge salad, a pot of baked beans, mashed potatoes, French fries, peas, carrots, string beans, three loaves of bread, two gallons of ice cream, and a chocolate cake. And that's just the appetizers. So of course she handed me a plastic bag with all the bread we owned, and off I went.

The bread worked. As soon as the swans saw my sack, they swam right over and hung around by the side of the pond, the adults making an odd chirping noise and the kids peeping adorably as if they were about to die of starvation. The only problem was that they were too close to take pictures. And half of the bits of bread that I tossed just bounced off their backs into the water, where they didn't notice them. The papa swan got tired of waiting and started snapping at the grass next to my legs; then he tried a taste of my jeans for good measure.

That was when the ducks decided to get in on the action. And after them, the seagulls. And every species wanted to stop every other one from getting any bread. (Except the ducks, who wanted to stop everybody. Those guys can be NASTY.)

So there I was, surrounded by quacking ducks, snapping swans, seagulls shouting “mine, mine, mine,” and even the occasional sparrow hoping for a dropped crumb. The tiniest hint of tossed bread would cause a riot—and I had several loaves to dispose of. They were getting heavier in my hand. Images of you-know-which-movie swirled in my head. I had to get rid of the bread before I was torn to pieces! In a panic, I drew back my right arm and threw as hard as I could, right into the middle of the pond. Bullseye! The ducks went nuts for it.

Man, that camera sank fast.