So there I was, sitting under a tree. It was a temperate morning. A slight breeze was blowing, the sun was shining. But then the perfection was broken by a crying child.
“Daaad. Daaad,” she called out, in between sniffles. She was hobbling towards me, clearly faking some kind of leg pain.
“Daaaaaaad,” she said, but louder and more dramatic this time.
Behind her, in the middle-distance, was her mom, aunt and gran. They were laughing. Nothing bad had happened, evidently. I let Alice ham it up.
“What’s wrong, baby? Are you okay?” I ask, holding my arms out to embrace her as she gets closer.
She’s got a single finger extended now, and I can see that she didn’t have any tears to accompany her my-life-doth-nearly-endeth cries from moments earlier.
“I got a outchie,” Alice says. “On my finger.”
“Oh no,” I reply. “What happened, baby?”
“A duck did bite my little finger,” she says.
“Hahahahahahahahahahhahahahahaha,” I say, unable to hold back laughter.
Now, look, you might think I’m being mean for laughing at my child – and maybe I am. But come on. That’s objectively funny. Seriously, who gets bitten by a duck? Yeah, so my child now might have anatidaephobia, but it’s worth it. It turns out, as Megan would later tell me, that Alice wasn’t even showing me the correct finger. It also turns out that Alice now often changes the lyrics of that “once I caught a fish alive” song to reflect it was a duck – and not a fish – that bit “this little finger on my right”.
You can find a video of her telling the story on my Instagram grid … except she says the duck bit me. The cheek. Like I’d ever get bitten by a duck. Pfft.
To complete the story, we were at Botanic Gardens, a magical place in the heart of the city that is one of the nicest spots in Durban. It’s got wide open spaces, it’s a pretty setting of bright colours, it’s super family friendly [except you can’t take balls in for some reason], it’s got cycad gardens, sunken gardens, orchid gardens, and even a few koi thrown into the mix.
And, yes, it’s got ducks. A duck-load of ducks. Bread-eating, Flings-eating, and, apparently, children-eating ducks. White ducks, brown ducks, big ducks, small ducks. Ducks on the water, ducks on the grass, ducks on the paths, ducks a pain in the arse. It’s like a Dr Seuss story, except more “green ducks and spam” and “all the places you’ll find poo on your child’s feet”.
It’s a subtle art, feeding the ducks. You hold the bread let them get close, and then lob it gently in their general direction. It’s safe, effective and allows you to realise that ducks can’t catch. At all. They’re useless.
Alice doesn’t do that. Since Duck Bite Fest 2019, her approach to feeding ducks is to launch chunks of bread in one direction and runs in the other screaming something like “aaaaaah” in a high-pitched tone. It’s not subtle, but it’s effective. And for a toddler, that’s all that matters, I guess.
The Good, The Bad and The Daddy 