Coots are interesting birds – more like chickens than ducks. There is a healthy community of these birds near my house where they are a permanent fixture, darting around their pond making half-hearted honking noises.
I sometimes wonder if each has its own identity: this one’s high-maintenance and that one’s always late, or forever losing things, or missing the point. Do they fret that Christmas is in only eleven days, pine for a new kitchen, or eschew a future on fixed income? Are there red and blue flocks of coots?
I think not. They seem to be all about feeding themselves and making room for more food, the darting around focused entirely on that objective.
But you never know.