The Duck Man
A Love Story
The Griffith Park dog park is situated between the LA River and the 134 freeway. I took my dogs there for the first time last summer and they loved it so much, I started going pretty much every afternoon. It didn’t take long to figure out who the regulars were and do the thing where you know all the dogs by name, but not the humans.
I typically spend my time at the dog park listening to podcasts while keeping an eye on my dogs, throwing tennis balls, and picking up dog poop — whether it belongs to my dogs or not. (It has nothing to do with being altruistic. I’d just rather not step in it.)
Occasionally, I’ll sit atop one of the tables and survey this doggie kingdom and the area beyond the parking lot, where there’s a break in the foliage that offers a partial view of the bike path that runs parallel to the revitalized riverbed where many species of birds and fowl inhabit the man-made islets. It was on one such occasion when I spied an older gentleman shuffling along the bike path; a smattering of ducks and geese and egrets toddling along behind him.
The following afternoon, there he was again, only this time, he was carrying two buckets. Birds of all ilks began squawking and quacking and swirling overhead before alighting on the bike path where the man began scattering the contents of the buckets. A regular Saint Francis of Assisi he was.
Once the buckets were emptied, he set them down and ambled over to the railing. I noted he was wearing the same clothes he’d worn the day before; a light khaki safari shirt and dark trousers. He leaned over the railing and took pause. From my vantage point in the dog park, I observed him as he observed the river.
Day after day, week after week, our paths crossed in various ways. Some days we’d arrive at the same time. Other days he’d be taking his leave upon my arrival or vice versa. There were afternoons when I’d drive by in time to catch him schlepping his buckets up the little path that leads to the hole in the fence and the bike path beyond. One time, a woman accompanied him. She carried her own buckets.
Since I didn’t know his name, I began referring to him as the Duck Man. I always got kind of excited whenever I spotted his vehicle parked in his usual spot on the dusty shoulder just a stone’s throw away from the dog park’s parking lot. I don’t know why, exactly, but seeing him just made me so happy.
Sometimes, I’d come home from the dog park and cheerfully report to my daughter, “I saw the Duck Man today!”
“You love the Duck Man, mom.”
Indeed. I’d developed a great deal of affection for the Duck Man.
One afternoon, I noticed an unusually large gathering of fauna and fowl milling about on the bike path. I surmised they were waiting for the Duck Man. He, like me, typically showed up between one and three. Minutes passed. More birds flew in. Yeah, they were definitely waiting. Waiting and waddling. But, by the time I left the dog park an hour later, the Duck Man had not materialized.
The next day and the next and the day after that, the Duck Man was a no show. When an entire week went by, I grew increasingly concerned for this man, whose name I did not know.
Had he changed his schedule? Maybe he was having trouble with his car? Oh, my God. What if something bad happened to him? What if he got Covid and was in the hospital?
I asked some of the dog park regulars if they’d seen him. Not one person knew who I was talking about.
“You know, the old man who feeds the ducks everyday?”
Not one flicker of recognition behind their eyes. I was incredulous. How could they have not ever noticed the Duck Man?
A few days later, I loaded the hounds in my car and headed out. As I drove past the soccer fields I saw it — up ahead in the distance — the Duck Man’s car!
Oh, my heart. I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved and so happy to see someone’s car.
As soon as I offloaded the dogs, I turned toward the bike path and there he was, the Duck Man, staring out into the middle distance as usual. I saw him again the next day and the next and the day after that, and all was right in my world again.
