Why are these ducklings running? A dog, perhaps? A hawk? The semi-annual shoe sale at Nordstrom?

No, it's a lesson they just learned about waves, about how gliding up and down can be fun and freeing and, well, fun, right until that wave actually breaks and you and your siblings go under, vanish from sight for long, long seconds, then bob to the surface, one by one, like tiny feathered corks, looking as shocked as a bird with a bill can manage.

I think I heard a squeaky chorus of "Holy shit!" come from the little ducklings as they swam frantically from the next wave, stumbled to the blessed shore, then waddled as fast as their plump and water-proof butts would allow, to drop gratefully - if not gracefully - into the pond, where they quickly revised their opinions about mamma duck's warnings about rogue waves and big dogs and friendly strangers, and getting another Metallica tattoo.