Waddle, by Bobby Warner

I passed him in the park. Strange looking fellow. Short, absolutely rotund. And he was moving along--not walking but waddling. You know: Swaying from side to side with every step he took. Looked just like a short, fat duck wearing a man's clothing. I decided to follow him; to see where he might go. Was he putting on an act? trying to draw attention to himself? some kind of mime? He went down toward the lake in the center of the park. I followed him into a grove of cypress trees that grew near the water. There were other trees growing profusely there; he vanished momentarily. Then I saw him stop, tear off his clothing, then waddle naked into the water and swim away. He turned briefly, winked at me, and said, "Quack, quack," and dove beneath the water. I stood there for half an hour or more, but he never came up. I walked over and picked up his clothing and shoes, tucked them under my arm, and left them at the pavilion at the park entrance, in case he might later return and claim them. I also reported seeing him dive into the water; but I did not stick around after the attendant placed a call for the park police. I had an idea the guy would be all right. Or as all right as someone who waddles like a duck can be.