My friend, and my duck

It was a hot and humid day last July. I’d just come home from a funeral for my lovely friend Michele. All I wanted was to get out of my black dress and take a walk to process my sadness. I’d reached the end of the Marblehead Causeway when I noticed a duck waddling along behind me.

Months earlier, I had seen mallards leading broods of ducklings along the waters of the harbor. But this was a full-grown duck, with a gray bill and a white-bordered patch of blue on its wings. With its dull color, I assumed it was a female. She wasn’t walking on the grass, but bravely and sturdily on the warm cement sidewalk. I leaned down, nodded at my new friend and waited a few seconds for her to fly away, but she gazed up at me, standing still.

When I resumed walking, she matched my pace, touching the heel of my sandal. When I increased my speed, she continued to match my pace, her peppy gray bill grazing the heel of my sandal with each of my steps. Was this odd duck stalking me?  After 10 minutes of this duck march, I realized we needed to cross the street and find our way to a nearby pond. But getting to the other side of the busy road with a duck attached to my heel was no easy feat.

We waited on the sidewalk until an SUV stopped. The driver, an older woman, listened sympathetically to my situation, before getting out to stop the next two cars, like the policeman in “Make Way for Ducklings.” Once safely to the other side of the road, my duck and I continued our search for a pond.

When I stopped to get my bearings, my duck friend bent down and with a little sliver of a tongue, licked my feet, all 10 toes. What was happening here?  Was I being attacked in some bizarre manner? I stood still for a moment and let the narrow, sandpapery piece of brownish duck flesh flit back and forth over my toes. For a few seconds, I simply could not move during this most peculiar ritual. But then, quickly, I drew back, now afraid that my new buddy might bite my feet, but, no, its tongue felt warm and gentle. I’d been feeling so sad, thinking of how Michele loved to walk by the ocean; my attentive and affectionate new friend was warming my wounded spirit.

This is when I started talking to the duck. Out loud. I thanked her for the kiss, and told her we’d surely find a pond where she could find other duck friends and something good to eat. She seemed to nod at me sweetly, her dark brown duck eyes glued lovingly to my face. We took off again, my companion reattached to the heel of my sandal.

Sadly, after another 15 minutes of our pleasant stroll, I couldn’t find even a puddle, never mind a pond. I tried to explain our dilemma and leaned down to pat my new friend’s fluffy head, when her little bill opened and she began to peck at my fingers.  It felt more brazen than the kiss on my toes, so I gently instructed my duck friend to stick to my feet.

We stopped a few more times along the way. I let my feathered friend know how bright and interesting Michele had been, and how she would have enjoyed walking with the two of us. It felt as if my duck friend understood what I was saying. She moved her bill in a sympathetic way, and gently licked my toes again.

The two of us continued on this bizarre adventure for another 20 minutes. We passed a woman who didn’t seem interested in our unusual relationship, and an adorable girl, probably about 10, who stopped writing with chalk to ask if the duck was mine. When I explained we were just friends, she seemed satisfied with my response and returned to her sidewalk art.

As I reluctantly informed my duck friend that I needed to get home, I swear she cocked her little head thoughtfully as she offered my toes one last lingering kiss. And then, as if by magic, she opened her wings and flew high into the sky.

To say I felt sad would be an understatement. I was devastated.

My sadness at the loss of my friend Michele had dimmed slightly during my duck walk. Michele was so special, she had an otherworldly way of seeing the world; she seemed to perceive more than what was placed in front of her.

But now I understood. My world had been shaken by a sad death. Yet, at that exact moment, a most curious piece of nature had found me. It was easily explained.  Michele had sent me the duck. It was her sign. She was alright and I would be too. And I smiled as I completed my walk alone.

I took that same walk for several days after the funeral.  But my duck never reappeared. I understood why: My duck was off doing what she did so well, staying close and soothing sad humans, doing her best to lick away their sorrows.