Ringnecks are back!

I opened the curtains to a busy pond this morning. The mallard flock were muttering and loafing up near the shore, waiting for the rattle of corn in a can to come ashore.  Farther downstream, away from the house, I saw wilder ducks.  Two pairs of ring-necked ducks were bathing, fishing and generally having a good time.  They seemed to be taking turns making shallow dives, sort of like a bathing dive, but then coming right back to the surface. The four ducks were facing each other, roiling the water and switching places quickly.  It could have been courtship behavior, or could be they were playing.  Birds do play, I've seen behavior numerous times that just doesn't have any other explanation.  Ravens tumbling and diving over and over on a windy day,  swallows dropping and chasing a feather,  red-headed tanagers in remote Mexico running in to each other in a grassy field, tumbling, then doing it all again.  Maybe there is some other serious, esoteric explanation, but it sure looks like play to me. 
Anyway, these handsome ducks are wild - they avoid human contact.  You won't find them lumbering up onto the grass to join the mallards for morning corn.  Even going outside for a closer look causes them to move farther upstream.  But wow, are they pretty. 
Which brings me to their name.  If you were looking for a ring-necked duck, you would look for a duck with an obvious ring of some contrasting color around the neck, yes?  Well, this duck has a neck ring, but it's a lovely dark cinnamon against a black neck, and you can only see it on the male if he extends his neck a bit, as in lifting his bill.  It's subtle.  In poor light, forget it.  These birds do have a significant field mark, and that's the bright gray and white bill sported by the males in breeding season.  I think it looks like a very dressy shoe.  Whoever named this duck decided that the neck ring was more valuable as a field mark than the bill, though, so there you go. 
These pairs may spend the winter on the big lake to the south of us, or they may be moving through, migrating farther south for the winter.  They breed in summer to the far north, extending down the Cascade Range and east a bit to about northern California. 
The wind is gusting to about twenty mph just now, sending wind riffles across our shallow pond, causing the river birch to bow gracefully. The mallards have retreated to the far, leeward side where they're huddled, heads tucked, in the golden marsh grass.  The Anna's hummingbird is buzzing the feeder, seemingly oblivious to the wind and rain.  He's cautious, as the human is sitting at the computer, uncomfortably close to his food source.  He doesn't count the window between us as a safety factor.  As the day darkens, he will retreat to his dry corner in the big fuchsia in the ell of the house, away from wind and most of the weather.  He won't tuck his long bill into neck feathers, but will delicately tilt up his head, pull in his neck a bit, close his eyes and sleep.