This would have been a workable, though of course still wildly foolish, idea except for one thing: Six months before, Foster City had encountered its own problem with its indigenous ground squirrel population. These animals were burrowing in the city’s levees and destroying them, threatening homes with the very real possibility of imminent flooding. In response to this crisis, Foster City had decided to poison the levee-dwelling critters en masse. This slaughter passed largely unnoticed in Foster City itself, but did not escape the keen eye of Eric Canard. And when San Francisco announced its intention to remove its Palace ducks to Foster City, Canard had gone ballistic.

Surely, if the ducks were sent to Foster City, the heartless bureaucrats there would not treasure and protect them. These people had shown their true colors around the plight of defenseless animals and would obviously treat the ducks as they had treated their own squirrels if given half a chance. And Canard was not going to let that happen.

So he’d sued. And lost.

And had threatened to sue again. Which gave the city a window in which to make its move.

Across the street, the chant was wearing down, but Mickey could still hear a strong voice-undoubtedly Canard-yelling now at the lead cop.

“So how’d this start today?” Mickey asked the old man. “I thought it was still in the courts.”

“No. The brains down at City Hall decided they’d just go ahead and round up the birds. The whole thing is nuts. And it’s all moot anyway. They started draining the lake a couple of days ago before they were ready for the ducks-in secret, I might add, and that’s never a good idea-so word got out to Canard and his people that something was happening down here, and the whack jobs started gathering before sunrise this morning. Uh-oh.”