Although my walks consist of strolling behind Miss Piggy, toting a plastic bag to pick up her deposits, some of my neighbors take their exercise quite seriously. As I gather Miss P’s Trail of Turds, I nod or smile at those I pass. Yet by the time I return to the house, I remember little, if anything, about them. Naturally, there are a few notable exceptions. Odd ducks, if you will.
For at least ten years, at the beach-house-not-on-the-beach, we’ve noticed one woman who walks almost every morning. She strides confidently, toes turned outward in a brisk duck walk, and swings her arms vigorously in an exaggerated side-to-side motion. It is not simply her walk, but her clothing as well, that makes her memorable. Same moves… same outfit… all these years. Even in the dog days of August, she wears an airy, long-sleeved white turtleneck, navy pants, white cotton gloves, and a pith helmet. In winter, she simply adds more layers.
A couple of odd ducks are exactly that: odd ducks. Muscovy ducks, I believe. They hang out at the retention pond beside the neighborhood library, but sometimes they wander over to sit by the front door of the library in the shade of the wisteria arbor.
There is one other pair of odd ducks–metaphorically, this time–who walk regularly in our neighborhood. Since they live in a section of the neighborhood quite far from our street, I generally encounter them when I’m in the car. That, in part at least, explains the poor quality of the only stealth photo I have to offer. It’s not like I can drive up and say, “You look a bit unusual. Mind if I take your picture?”
Still, it makes me chuckle to imagine what their morning ritual must be:
She gives him the finger. . . and off they go…!