I remember last Tuesday clearly, because I wrote in my appointment book in capital letters:

THE GREAT BETRAYAL.

And that is what it shall be called, henceforth.

In the early hours of last Tuesday morning, as my coffee steeped in the French press, I was packing my car for work and looking around my yard. Normally in the spring my yard is rife with ducks, bunnies, squirrels and birds, but this year is just a quiet, unfrequented patch of grass. Some birds, maybe a squirrel here and there, but largely deserted.

I walked back in my house, glancing sadly at the full bag of critter food waiting on my front table. Outrageously expensive, the bag sat at the ready, for visiting fluffers.

But there had been no visiting fluffers.

Do my yard critters know something I don’t? Have migratory patterns changed? Am I vilified in the bunny community as a Bunny Murderer?

Driving down Bay Avenue and ruminating on these questions, I suddenly saw Mr. and Mrs. Duck slowly crossing the street. MY Mr. and Mrs. Duck. I slammed on my brakes as they waddled in front of my car, oblivious to my presence, and I exited the car.

“Hey!” I yelled.

They waddled.

“Hey! Where you guys been!”

Waddling, sidelong glance.

“I’ve got some really delicious snack mix for you. Stop by, o.k.?”  I could hear the desperate, pleading tone in my voice, but I couldn’t stop myself. Knowing I would appear needy, I nevertheless opened my mouth to address them again. Suddenly I heard:

“Good morning guys, I’ve got breakfast for youuuuu!”

Looking in the direction of the voice, I saw an older woman in a bathrobe and slippers, holding a bag of critter feed. Our eyes met, and I watched Mr. and Mrs. Duck waddle enthusiastically to her yard.

“Well, well,” I said. “So that’s how it’s gonna be.”

Nary a glance in my direction, they began to nibble, the woman and I stared at each other. Finally, I uttered only one more sentence:

“Take care of each other.”