A Defensive Mother On The Mud
The adult mute swan snapped its orange beak forward, hissing sharply as feathers flared wide across its back.
A stiff loop of white plastic wire bound tightly around the base of its long neck, cutting into the pale down.
Two small grey cygnets huddled low against the damp earth just inches behind their mother’s feet, watching the boots approach.
The swan lunged again, striking the empty air to keep the human figure away from the muddy nest area.
Trash and broken reeds cluttered the freezing shoreline beside a slow-moving channel of brown water.
Frost coated the tall grass along the roadside verge, turning the brush silver under a pale, overcast sky.
Every time the bird shifted its weight, the plastic loop dug deeper against the base of its throat.
Closing The Distance
A man dressed in a dark winter coat and heavy wading gear dropped to his knees directly in the mud.
He kept his hands low, avoiding quick reaches toward the swan’s curved neck.
The bird delivered another sharp hiss, beating its heavy primary feathers against the damp ground.
He waited on both knees until the swan’s wings lowered slightly against its flanks.
Reaching forward with his bare hands, he gently grasped the white feathers at the top of the curve.
The swan flapped violently for a brief second, thrashing against his grip on the icy shoreline.
He held the base of the neck firmly with one hand while reaching into his pocket with the other.
He pulled out a small folding knife, opening the short metal blade against his thumb.
Working Against The Snare
The two cygnets remained pressed together in the mud, their dark eyes tracking every move between the swan and the man.
He slid the flat edge of the blade carefully under the taut plastic loop, keeping the sharp point pointed away from the flesh.
The swan pulled back against the pressure, its beak parting in a silent gasp as the plastic tightened.
He adjusted his fingers, pressing the bird’s breast against his knee to eliminate any sudden movement.
With a short, deliberate saw of the blade, the stiff plastic strand snapped apart with a clean pop.
He set the knife into the dirt and used both hands to unravel the remaining wire wrapped around the neck.
He lifted the white cord free from the feathers and stuffed it deep into his coat pocket.
He smoothed the ruffled down along the swan’s neck with open palms, smoothing the ruffled plumage flat.
The bird stood completely still, tilting its head sideways as his fingers stroked along the white nape.
Returning To Cold Water
The man took two slow steps backward, rising to his feet on the gravel verge.
The swan turned its body around, stepping deliberately past the broken plastic bottles scattered in the dirt.
The two grey cygnets rose on their dark webbed feet, stumbling forward to follow their mother’s path.
The swan slid down the slick muddy incline and entered the grey water without making a splash.
The cygnets paddled directly behind her, their downy bodies bobbing lightly on the surface of the narrow canal.
The mother dipped her head beneath the surface once, shaking water droplets across her back before gathering the young between her wings.
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