On a quiet Thursday morning in the Netherlands, 63-year-old Jos Maas awoke to an unusual sight outside his home. In the shallow ditch near his yard stood a family of swans — two adults and seven fluffy cygnets — their long necks bending low, trying desperately to sip what little water remained.
The region had been suffering from drought. Streams had thinned to trickles, ditches had gone dry, and ponds that once offered cool refuge were now patches of cracked earth. For the swans, creatures who depend on steady water to feed and survive, the search for relief had led them astray.
Jos could have simply watched, sympathetic but passive. Instead, he felt a tug of responsibility. These birds were lost, thirsty, and vulnerable. If he didn’t step in, who would?
So he tried something unexpected. He walked slowly toward the road, glancing back to see if they would follow. To his amazement, they did.
In single file, the entire family — father, mother, and their seven chicks — fell in line behind him. The sight was almost storybook, a real-life echo of Make Way for Ducklings. Jos raised his arms gently to pause cars, halting traffic as he became both guide and protector. Drivers stopped, curious onlookers stared, and the swans kept marching, their webbed feet slapping softly against the pavement.
For several minutes, Jos led the procession like a shepherd, each step bringing them closer to a pond he knew still held water. Behind him, the swans waddled faithfully, trusting him as if they understood his intent.

