Happy Tuesday, My Friend!
Today’s letter addresses a topic that may not be commonly discussed. You may think I’m totally “quacked” up when you see what I’m talking about. Today, I’d like to discuss—
Ducks.
Yes, ducks. But wait! Certainly, there will be some deeper meaning, right? Um—maybe. But if it’s just about ducks, then so be it!
Growing up in Wisconsin, the only ducks I ever saw were mallards. I know the ducks typically seen in children’s books are yellow or white with an orange beak, but those don’t live in Washburn, Wisconsin. Mallards did. And so I figured all ducks looked like they did, with their iridescent green heads. I had another thing coming.
That other thing was a Muscovy duck.
As my friend Janet would say, they are rather “unfortunate-looking.” Kevin and I first encountered Muscovy ducks when we moved to the Atlanta area in 1985. We visited a flea market, where we saw many eye-opening things. Moving to Georgia from the Midwest was chock-full of new experiences, not the least of which was meeting these ducks we dubbed “chicken ducks.”
Muscovy ducks have, dare I say, ugly, bumpy flesh on their faces. So, not the graceful and majestic mallard. I found myself looking down my nose at the curious creatures, both literally and figuratively. We didn’t live in Georgia for very long, and off we moved back to the Midwest—mallard country. Ahhhh, those shiny green heads. Now, those were ducks!
But as life would have it, we didn’t stay there. Off we moved to Delaware. I don’t remember seeing a single duck in Delaware. Do they even live there? Are they allowed? Does Delaware have something against ducks? I know it’s called the “Blue Hen” state, so obviously, it doesn’t cry “fowl” in that department. No matter, we moved once again to Florida, and guess what reigns supreme here . . . yes, the beloved, ugly chicken duck—er, Muscovy duck.
As I lived side by side with these feathered critters, I slowly warmed up to them. And when our kids all grew up and moved away, and I had no more children to care for, I started looking out my window to see what might need my attention. And what to my wondering eyes should appear? But Muscovy ducks, from far to near!
Being a bird lover from way back, I liked having a birdfeeder in my yard. I noticed the chicken ducks would hang out beneath the feeder and eat the seeds that fell. Yeah, they were still ugly, but since my own “nest” was empty, I was willing to overlook their appearance and take them under my proverbial wing, even if my “wing” was that of a human.
I started naming all of the chicken ducks.
Actually, it was my son Sean who named one duck Anderson Cooper. (He was my favorite.) He was mostly white with streaks of gray. The other prominent male of the group was Scooter. He was so bossy! He picked on Anderson Cooper all the time, and I’m not embarrassed to say that I banged on my windows a few times to get him to stop his shenanigans.
There were several ladies in the group as well. I don’t remember their names as well, but there was a Mary in there somewhere, and my granddaughter Olive named one Daisy. This motley crew hung out in my backyard for years. We have a canal in our backyard, making it a haven for water birds. For the most part, they behaved themselves, and we existed happily next to one another. I should mention that Kevin was never a fan. He didn’t like how they “decorated” our driveway when they (ahem) answered nature’s call, but he loves me and allowed my little love affair with the homely creatures to continue. That is, until . . . . . .
One day, one of them, probably Scooter, since he was the self-appointed boss, decided it’d be great fun to flap his way to the top of the screen enclosure over our pool and sit. I thought it was kind of cute at first. I sat out there one evening, and my friends sat up top, over my head. There we sat in the evening twilight, one big happy family: Part human, part Cairina moschata. (Pretty fancy name for a chicken duck, wouldn’t you say? Kind of sounds like Piña Colada.) All was right with the world until I woke up the next morning and looked out at our screen.
Poop. Everywhere.
They weren’t content to just sit up there and enjoy the evening with me. No, someone (once again, probably Scooter) decided it was an excellent place for a restroom, and you know how that works; once one goes, they all have to go.
That was the last straw for Kevin. He’d put up with these quackers long enough. He forbade me from feeding them anymore. I honestly couldn’t argue. The task of hosing down duck excrement from the top of the screen is not a pretty sight. You hope that the water stream hits its target just right, dislodges it, and sends it tumbling. It doesn’t always happen that way. Some parcels are more firmly enmeshed than others and require a lot of squirting to help send them on their way.
Funny how when there’s no food around, ducks find other places to go. The chicken ducks are long gone, as is my year-round birdfeeder. I now put one up just during the winter when the painted buntings are around. They are such pretty little things.
All this ‘ugly duckling’ talk makes me wonder if I look at people the same way I do birds. I learned to love those chicken ducks, but it took a while. Cardinals? Painted buntings? Blue jays? Or, when I’m up north: Goldfinches? Chickadees? Hummingbirds? How I love to see them! But the grackles? I’ll turn my nose up to a grackle every day of the week.
I sure hope I’m not like that with people. Do I notice and smile at the pretty ones more than I do the plain ones? Am I more likely to go to the aid of someone who is not . . . unfortunate-looking? Gosh, I hope not. But it does make me stop and think. And ask God to help me see other people as He does.
Whether you encounter chicken ducks or mallards, grackles or painted buntings this week, may you (and I) see the beauty in each one!
Written with love – – – Patti XOXO
“…And as for the duck, one thing God must have smiled a bit
Seeing those bright eyes blink on the day He fashioned it.
And He’s probably laughing still at the sound that came out of its bill!”
From “Ducks” by Frank W. Harvey