Animal Activities #38

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The Busy Life of a Duck

When morning light touch the pond, I see duck already awake. Small feathers shining wet because of dew, and it shake body quick like it want to throw away the night. I like how it stretch the long neck, wings spreading wide, almost like it saying salutatio naturae, "hello to the world". Every day begin with that same little dance, but still look new each time.

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Duck and water, they can’t live far from each other, never. As soon as it waddles close, splash happen, then smooth glide. The feet under water moving like hidden paddles, quiet but strong. Ripples go everywhere in round rings. That style of swimming, or natatio like the old Romans might call, keep the bird alive, keep it free. For me it look like peace in motion.

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Eating comes next, because stomach never wait too long. Duck search in mud, dig soft ground with beak, and sometimes catch small insect that unlucky fly too low. Other time it bend upside down, tail up high, head disappear under water, and comes out with tiny green plants. That funny position I always laugh, yet that is serious work, alimentum quaerere, hunting for food the simple way. I learn that duck can find food I didn’t even see.

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Then I notice they hardly stay alone. Ducks like crowd, they walk in groups, leaving small prints like arrows on soil. They quack loud, the sound bouncing like music. Every quack not same, some like warning, some soft, some too noisy like argument. This social thing, it’s like convivium, life together. No duck enjoy quiet too much, they prefer talk, or at least noise.

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After all that busy move, resting also must come. Hot afternoon, duck sit by water edge, eyes heavy. One head tuck inside wing, yet the other eye half open, watching. They never fully trust the world, but still find small quies—peace of rest. It amazes me how they sleep standing or floating, but still alert to danger.

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When evening begins to paint the sky red, wings come alive again. Ducks suddenly rise, flapping fast. Sound of wings like drum in the air. In Latin, volare means to fly, and truly they fly with grace. Sometimes they form strange shape in sky, sometimes just scatter in small groups. The way they land back on water, smooth and sure, show practice from many years.

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Night fall different. Ducks gather close, sometimes in hidden corner, sometimes floating as group. Darkness bring silence, what old words call silentium noctis. I see them calm, but always ears open for crack of branch or shadow moving wrong. That is survival, living careful, but never giving up sleep.

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Day ends and new one come again. Ducks repeat, but never boring. Morning shake, afternoon swim, evening flight, all like rhythm. Yet every day hold small surprise, maybe bigger crowd, maybe new call, maybe brighter splash. That’s the beauty of duck life, simple, moving, breathing like poem.

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Watching them, I feel there is lesson too. Ducks don’t rush but they don’t stop. They eat when food come, rest when tired, fly when need. They share space, share sound, and still keep guard. Even with small brains, they know balance better than many humans.

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I sometimes sit by pond only to hear the quacks. They sound rough at first but then soft in ear. That voice is their language, their way to say “I’m here.” I think of how Romans would call it vox naturae, the voice of nature. Every echo touch the water surface and carry far.

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Feathers too are work of art. When duck clean itself, it move beak along body, pressing oils from special gland. This act called cura plumis, care for feathers. Without it, water will soak inside and flying become heavy. Ducks never forget this, like small daily chore.

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Even small chicks follow same cycle. From the first step they copy mother, swimming tiny natatio, eating little grass, running quick after bugs. It’s funny to see the mini version of adult repeating all the same. For them, life is already written, and they only need to grow inside it.

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So duck day is never wasted. Always something—swim, eat, rest, fly, guard, talk. For me, that routine is reminder that simple life still hold magic. One wing flap, one ripple on water, one loud quack at sunset, all together form the story of duck. And tomorrow again, same but also different, forever the circle of vita avium—the life of birds.

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I invite @promisezella @etoro @mayjay @peacemike to participate in this contest

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Cc,
@xkool24