Story: My Ducks Runneth Over or, " How NOT to end a date"

When I was younger, single and living in Tennessee, I invited a lady friend up to attend a social event. She wasn't a girlfriend so much as a buddy and someone to hang out with whenever I was home visiting my family in Alabama. Still, we got along well, had fun together, and in the absence of a real girlfriend, I invited her up to the event.

The weekend was a good time, and the social event, a celebration of the 101st Airborne Division's history, was better than the usual "mandatory fun." But, as happens, it came time finally to drive Lori down to Nashville to catch the short flight back home.

As we drove down I-24, the truck windows down to enjoy the fresh Spring air, life was good. It was a beautiful day, traffic was light, and we cruised along at about 70 miles per hour. That's when it happened.

Gazing ahead, I saw what I thought was a stick in the middle of the road. There was a tall part, and a lower, longer, skinnier part, so I decided that I would move over slightly in the lane to try to straddle whatever it was. I was driving a 4x4 SUV at the time with pretty high ground clearance, and figured that it would pass right under. There was just one problem. It wasn't a stick.

I know what you're thinking...it was a snake. And you're thinking that I ran over the snake. And admit it. You're OK with that, because snakes are sort of creepy. Nope. Not a snake.

Ducks.

That's right. Ducks. Plural. A mama duck and at least five babies. Just out for a stroll. ON A MAJOR INTERSTATE HIGHWAY. To this day, I'm not sure what that mother duck was thinking.

As we sped inevitably to what could only end badly, it seemed that the world slowed down. I was in the middle of the action, but I had the sense that I could see everything going on from an outside vantage point. Not a true out of body experience, but I saw all of it simultaneously. The road stretching out ahead. The stick turning into a family of cute, defenseless, fuzzy ducks. The girl sitting next to me. Her eyes widening in horror as her hands went to her mouth. All my work to impress her with a classy weekend and me on my very best behavior all getting thrown out the window and spread across the countryside like the feathers from a ruptured, goose down pillow...And, as I'm having my out-of body experience, I simultaneously had a flashback to the danger-filled days of the Diesel Dasher in which I learned to drive.

One of the very first lessons that my Mother taught me, and the one I remember most to this day, is that, when confronted with an animal in the road (assuming it's a normal pet-sized animal and not a Cape Buffalo or brontosaurus), you NEVER swerve. Your Prime Directive as a driver is the safety of your passengers. The safety of an animal never usurps that first and most important duty. Driving a high center of gravity truck like my Explorer made any emergency maneuvers that much more dangerous. So, I gripped the steering wheel tight, and held the line that I'd chosen.

And I straddled that family of ducks at 70 miles per hour.

Apart from the rushing wind in our ears, there was no sound. How does one adequately describe tragedy? I looked in the rear view mirror to see ducks tumbling in slow motion all over the road, all wings and webbed feet. I looked at Lori. She still had eyes like saucers, hands over her mouth in a silent scream, and added to this now was a look that seemed to imply that I had done this on purpose.

No amount of explanation could convince her otherwise. I love animals. Even ducks. I don't hunt, but not because I'm opposed to it out of some non-meat eating, earthy-crunchy, tree-hugging, Birkenstock-wearing, environmentalist reasons. I don't hunt because I don't shoot well enough or practice enough to ensure that I would dispatch the animal with a minimum of agony. So, to run over an entire family of ducks, committing mass duck murder, was a rather traumatic event.

The rest of the 45 minute ride to the airport was spent mostly in silence. The strained conversation that did happen was one sided, and consisted of me trying to convince her that I was not some Neanderthal who got pleasure from killing defenseless animals. I'm not sure she ever bought it.

We didn't hang out as much after that...I wonder why?