13 Degrees of Separation

Ah, the difference that 13 degrees makes.

 

In this case, the difference not only in temperature and degree, but more significatly, questions.....

 

Monday night, when going to Harlem Meer, the temperature was a balmy 30 degrees.

 

I like this kind of weather.  Except for the inconvenience of having to wear hat, scarf and gloves, it is invigorating.

 

Apparently the waterfowl find 30 degrees invigorating, also.

 

As soon as landing my first steps leading to the Meer, Monday night, Buster sent out a loud greeting honk and suddenly he and his seven charges took off from the center of the lake and quickly flew to the south embankment -- the gathering site I usually feed the Bradly Brigade (Brad, Piggly and Wiggly) and a few random mallards and geese. 

 

Apparently, Buster's honk alerted a whole bunch of other geese and ducks and I was immediately swarmed with a slew of hungry ducks and geese, including of course, the Bradly Brigade.

 

Although thinking I had brought a decent supply of sunflower seeds, millet, cracked corn and some morsels of whole wheat bread, I went through the bag of nourishment in less than five minutes.

 

The birds were either really hungry -- or they were preparing to fill up while they could and then hunker down during the next couple of days.

 

Apparently, Brad, Buster and company knew the weather was about to radically change for the worst.

 

Depleted of my food supply in the blink of an eye, I gathered my dogs to leave.

 

Brad, Piggy and Wiggly followed me along the embankment, as did Buster and his motley crew of geese and a number of others.

 

I quite literally, had a parade escorting me from the Meer!

 

The image made me laugh.  

 

I wondered if they were unsatisfied with the insufficient amount of food and expected more?  Or was this their way of showing appreciation for what had been given to them? 

 

Or, rather had Brad simply informed Buster that old ladies and old dogs need guidance to find their way around the park?   "She just became a senior citizen some weeks ago.  We have to watch out for her."

 

"Well, if that is the case (that you don't think I can find my way home), then shouldn't you guys escort me to my door?"  I teased and laughed.

 

But, the ducks chirped in a language I couldn't understand.  And Buster just offered an ambiguous honk.

 

Finally walking up the steps leading away from the Meer, I waved at the birds who were then all in the water near the edge of the lake.

 

"You'd better get ready to hunker down!  The cold air is coming.  Goodnight, guys!"

 

And, boy, did the cold air come!

 

Yesterday, running some errands in the afternoon, I could feel my legs freezing under my jeans.

 

I broke down and bought a pair of tights.

 

By the time I headed to Central Park last night with my thankfully "cold weather" dogs, the temperature had plunged to 17 degrees with near-zero wind chills.

 

And though I had bundled up in the usual attire, (adding tights under the jeans) I found myself alternating gloved, but freezing hands between pockets and holding Tina and Chance.

 

Even my eyeballs felt like they were freezing.

 

Arriving to Harlem Meer, I could not see any birds at all on the lake which at that point, was still mostly unfrozen.

 

Where is everybody?

 

Even the Bradly Brigade did not rush to greet me at the usual spot.

 

A small handful of mallards suddenly appeared and squatted down on the raggedy, frigid grass trying to quickly eat whatever was tossed in their direction.

 

None of the mallards actually stood up or walked around. I speculated the squatting down was a way to try and keep their legs and bellies warm.  (This, despite the fact I have read that geese and ducks don't have blood circulation in their legs and cannot normally feel the cold. But, from what I have seen, they do feel cold in their legs and seek to protect them -- at least when on land.)

 

A little concerned when not seeing the Bradly Brigade or the geese, I realized I would have to start walking around the lake.   -- Something certainly not desired last night due to the difficulty in preventing frostbite on the hands.

 

I then began to wonder if goose harassment had been used at Harlem Meer yesterday and the thought really pissed me off.  

 

Would they really have the audacity and cruelty to harass the birds in the dead of winter and during a cold blast?  If so, I will have to make some calls tomorrow!

 

But, then I heard some goose honks emanating from the west side of the lake! 

 

Relieved,  I immediately set out in that direction - despite the desire to just run home to my warm, cozy apartment.

 

Sure enough, it seems almost all of the geese and most of the mallards were gathered along the edges and marshes of the west portion of the Meer.

 

At least 6 or 7 of the geese were busy dunking and diving under the still unfrozen water.

 

They were quite literally, "working their butts off."

 

But, some of the mallards recognizing me, quickly swam to the edge of the lake begging treat.   I tossed a bunch of seeds in the marshes which they immediately scrambled for -- and then moved on.  

 

I still had not spotted the Bradly Brigade.

 

Eventually reaching the north east portion of the lake, I finally found Brad, Piggly and Wiggly huddled with a few other ducks amongst some marshes, presumably for protection from the punishing winds.

 

Recognizing me, they hopped up on an embankment and heartily ate the food as fast as I could toss it out.  

 

Brad walked up to me and squatted down in sitting position to eat directly from my hand.

 

And suddenly, there was this brief moment when I considered how easy it would be for me to just grab Brad right there and then and make a run for it.

 

But, of course the idea was "crazy."

 

For one matter, I had two dogs who I had to hold on to and protect.  For another, I had nothing big enough to put Brad into.

 

But,  most importantly, to grab Brad would mean condemning Piggly and Wiggly to certain death as the two other flightless ducks so depend upon Brad now to survive.

 

And yet, despite the total failure of logic, the thought was so compelling when watching Brad squat before me in brave attempt to keep his belly and legs warm. -- Almost as if asking to be picked up and taken to warm sanctuary!!

 

"If only....."

 

But, if I wanted to play around or consider the idea further, the moment was soon gone.

 

All three ducks were quickly back in the water before I could entertain any further "heroic" rescue fantasies. (Apparently, the frigid water is still warmer for them than the zero wind- chilled land.)

 

Besides, at that point, my gloved hands were so frozen, they were probably useless for any attempted rescue....

 

Still, walking the mile home last night in the bitter frigidity with my dogs, I had to wonder if I would one day live to regret not making the "crazy" decision to try and rescue Brad?

 

He had briefly been sitting before me like a beseeching, abandoned pet.  It would have been so easy to just.....

 

Ah, the difference that 13 degrees of separation makes!

 

In this case, a rare opportunity that only comes with the brutality of the moment. -- A moment quickly there and then, in a flash, gone.

 

By Thursday, the temperature is predicted to go back up to 40 degrees.

 

There is little time for regret -- but far too much time for wonder.  -- PCA

 

 

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