"You little Dickens," she said. "Get over here."
Over the next weeks, the duckling grew. When fall hung in the air, he heard students yell, “Go Ducks” as they filed past his nest area.
"Mother, what's that mean," the duckling asked.
"Son, we live on the University of Oregon campus near the football stadium. We’re about to begin football season. You have not even met your father yet because he spends most of his time watching the football team practice on their field. He always wanted to catch a football. I get so frustrated with him. That's why you're an only duck."
"Wow," said Dickens, thinking that was his name of course. "How do I get over there? Is Dad there now?"
"Hmph," said his mother, "Don't follow in his webfeet."
Nothing could stop Dickens, He toddled, quacking all the while and got lost near the footbridge that leads toward the stadium. Then he looked up and saw it - that colossal O on the side of the building. He waddled quacking himself silly, yelling, "Dad, Dad. Where are you?" He managed to cross the bridge and reached the edge of the stadium which loomed in front of him.
Dickens came upon a green and yellow cart where a man dressed in a green jacket sat. Still not in flight mode, he jumped up behind a few boxes to see if he could get a better view. The man started the engine and drove down a ramp that led to a green carpet with white lines. Dickens wobbled this way and that, his webfeet slipping on the truck’s surface.
Dickens jumped from the truck when it stopped and saw flash of green feathers in a corner. He ambled over to greet him.
"Who are you? What are you doing here," his father, Drake asked.
"I'm your son and mother said you play some kind of game here."
"No, I only watch and dream here. I dream I can fly up, catch a football and fly into the end zone," his father said looking at the sky.
"Can I do that too?" asked Dickens.
Drake took one look at the scrawny puppy-of-a-duck and quacked, "I doubt it."
"Well, I can certainly try," said Dickens.
All of a sudden, they heard a roar and grunts and a stream of large creatures pounded the earth.
"Those are the University of Oregon Fighting Ducks." Dickens’ father ruffled his feathers to attention and saluted.
"They don't look like Ducks to me," Dickens said.
"Of course they're not ducks like us. That's just the name they use to win football games," his father replied.
“I have something to show you, son.” Drake went up to a football and jumped-flew to the top. The ball wiggled but he balanced. His unusually large feet could nearly enclose each side. He could balance but not pick up the ball. “I’ve worked on this for years. It will come some day. You are small now but you will grow too.”
Dickens looked down at his webbed feet no larger than the Nike swoosh on the ball and wondered.
“Once I can get a good grip, I can catch a pass,” his father said. I just have to practice. Believe and practice.”
Dickens watched his father flap and land, fall, flap and land again. Once he balanced, wings out.
“I’ll get it and make your mother and you proud.”
Darkness began to creep over the field and soon father and son waddled home. Along the way, his father would stop and wrap his feet around a rock or tree branch. Some he carried as he hopped on one foot. He did have the ability to hold them for a short time until gravity took over.
As they approached their nesting area, other ducks would call out at him, “There goes flounder feet.”
Dickens began to worry about his own feet.
“It’s time you taught the fellow to fly,” his mother said. “Do you want your son made a fool of too?”
“In time, in time,” Dickens’ father responded.
As Dickens’ feet began to grow, flight lessons became more difficult. It took a lot of flapping since his feel pulled him down.
“Don’t worry, son, it took me longer too. I just kept at it. Distance flying isn’t important since we live here all year and don’t have to fly south for the winter. Eugene is a great town. Remember you become all you put into yourself. Don’t let anyone disrespect you.
Because he saw that Dickens became frustrated with his lessons, Drake took him over to the practice field. They watched a place kicker send the ball into the air but it did not make it through the goal posts. The ball would zip to the right, rumble on the ground or zag left. Drake told Dickens to observe this fellow. The kicker’s feet seemed small but they could put power behind the ball.
“He needs a target,” said Drake as the ball shot high to the right but not through the goal posts. As the football sailed to the ground, he tried to clutch it with his feet and hug it to his chest. It came close but he spiraled down with the ball and feathers flew when both landed. He flopped, stunned for a moment.
The place kicker ran over to Drake, “Some catch.”
Drake beamed through his tangled feathers.
The place kicker set up one more time. When the ball fell short, he kicked at the turf.
Drake had an idea. He waddled over to the man and began quacking and flying. He made himself look quite silly which sent the fellow into fits of laughter. Next, Drake flew and tried to rest on the crossbars of the goal post. His feet hung way over and he teetered back and forth, wings flapping.
“OK. I’ll keep at it,” the kicker said.
Drake flew straight up and suspended himself above the uprights like a hawk in stalking its prey. The kicker looked and aimed. Whoosh, the ball nicked Drake’s head feathers.
“Yahoo!” said the kicker. Both Dickens and his father quacked.
The rest of the afternoon every time Drake suspended himself above the crossbar, the kicker aimed and made a goal.
Drake had the idea of trying to catch the next one. He missed until one sailed low and he connected with his feet. The ball stuck and he flew to the five yard line, the ten, the twenty. The place kicker cheered and said to Dickens, “Only 70 more yards until you get to the end zone.”
Drake and Dickens went each day to watch the team practice. In their secret place, no one could scoot them away. They also helped Kenny, the kicker, away from the main field. Called a “walk on,” Kenny had no scholarship and only his duck friends and his own drive to keep him going during pre-season drills.
Kenny began to kick at least 3 out of 5 through the uprights. He could get one over from the 50 yard line at times. By this time Dickens had alternated with his father to keep Kenny focused. Dickens fluttered in the center of the goal posts but he just didn’t have the feet for catching.
The first game of the season Kenny could suit up but he probably would not play. The first team kicker had never missed.
In the last two minutes with the score tied, The Oregon Ducks scored on an end run and needed one point to win the game. Their kicker came on the field for the extra point. When the snap came, it was high and the holder bobbled it in place. The kicker thrust his foot to kick while a defensive player raged in on him. He lay motionless and a yellow flag appeared on the field.
“Roughing the kicker,” the referee announced. The Ducks would have the opportunity to kick again. The number one kicker was helped off the field.
The coach talked to Kenny and soon he appeared in place.
Drake felt ready to take his position also but would have to time it.
When the kicking team set up, he flew high behind the netting and began his wild flutter. Kenny’s foot connected with a solid sound. The Referees’ arms went up as the ball crossed the uprights. Drake couldn’t resist. It just felt right. He flew in and caught the ball before it reached the netting. The crowd roared. Spectators pointed to Drake as he clutched the ball to his chest and began the flight of his dreams.
The announced yelled, “The Ducks have won the game. Wait. What’s going on? There’s a duck with the point after football. He’s to the 40, the 30 the 20. This duck can fly. He’s flown into the end zone.”
Drake sputtered, finally out of wing power. Both he and the ball touched down on the O in OREGON painted in the end zone. Stunned, he flopped still. Soon, a sea of yellow and green players surrounded him.
“That’s my coach,” Kenny yelled. “He’s the one I’ve been telling you guys about. Now do you believe it?”
By the time Dickens and his father flew back to the mill race, the whole flock had learned of the amazing achievement. Television coverage ran on every station. Soon the whole country knew about the flying duck with the football in his feet and the win for the Oregon Fighting Ducks.
As for Dickens, his feet never grew quite as large as his father’s. He did have his own dreams about baseball season.
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