Well, here's the story anyway. So suffer.
Yesterday, I was leaving the parking lot of the library/county offices, and as I was about to pull out into the street, a mama duck and a half a dozen tiny fuzzy ducklings crossed the driveway in front of me.
awww....just picture them, a la "Make Way for Ducklings"...
The mama duck jumped up over the curb and onto the grass. The very tall curb. The baby ducks, presented with what was essentially a concrete wall twice their height, milled around the gutter trying to figure out where the heck their mama went.
I think, although I do naturally have a soft spot for animals, that it's these darn pregnancy hormones that caused me to be completely compelled by these ducks. All of the babies were clear of my path. But I couldn't drive off without seeing for myself that each one had made it up onto the grass. Luckily, nobody was behind me, as I sat in the driveway (like a crazy person) and watched them struggle to figure it out. Finally, one brave duckling managed to jump/flap/scramble his way up the curb. And that gave the others hope... so one by one, the others figured it out...
You know already, don't you? One of 'em couldn't make it. Poor little thing was hopping and flapping and crashing back down that inch and a half, and panting and looking pathetic, all the while peeping and making pathetic noises, while the Mama meanwhile is quacking away... She turned back to see where her straggler is, and naturally, all the other babies start making like they're going to jump down and back into the driveway.
I had no choice. Again, hormone-compelled, I put my car into park and got out... I carefully approached the duckling, scooped him up and tossed him (he landed face first, I regretted that) into the grass. He got up and joined the family, as I ran back to my car... finally another car was behind me, probably wondering what kind of nutjob I was.
The pregnant kind, sir. The pregnant kind.