This morning there was a duck standing outside the double glass doors of my minimart of choice. [the source for my morning Dr.Pepper]. It was a male mallard, and he appeared to want to go inside with me. I told the current AM clerk, who’s name is not Edgar but that’s what I call all of them in my head – Except Sam, but he doesn’t work there anymore – anyway, i told Edgar14 that there was a duck out there. He said he is there every morning. [Obviously before I get up, but I had an early meeting today.] I asked him if he fed the duck, and he replied he did, but I’m not entirely sure he knew what I was asking. Edgar14 is not overly familiar with the English language. But he very polite and friendly, and getting better every day. I had a little baggie of cereal in my car, and before I left, I fed some to the duck. Life Honey Graham cereal. I like ducks.
In the post Ivanhoe Inn days, Moür Moür moved out of “town” and up on the palisades. She had a lot of land surrounding her house, so she did the only logical thing, got two ponies and started raising ducks. I think, in the beginning, the baby ducks were a much anticipated event, but after several years of trying to get rid of baby ducks, the thrill may have worn. One summer, she sent my older brother home from a visit, to her ex-son-in-law’s house, with two baby ducks. In a shoe-box. On the airplane. It’s not like my father was going to ship them back. We named them Lucille and Mr. Smith.
Another summer, during my visit, one of the baby ducks was born sickly. And the mother duck tried to kill it. Moür Moür rescued it, and brought it inside. We put it in an empty margarin tub with some grass and nursed it back to health. It was so sad looking, in the beginning. Not fuzzy at all, the feathers were all matted together. So we started calling it Poor Baby Duck. Then we started calling her PBD, for short. And out of that came Peebers. I spent the next few weeks raising Peebers, and she followed me everywhere. She slept in the bathtub, and sat on my shoulder, in the crook of my neck, when I watched tv. [she liked General Hospital] I loved that duck. Moür Moür decided it was time for Peebers to sleep outside, shortly before the end of my visit. I was against this, as the ELEMENTS might get her. Moür Moür created a mini-pen with chicken wire, and sure enough, she put Peebers out there at the end of the day. Peebers cried and cried. Or peeped and peeped, depending on how you wanted to view it. So I went outside with a blanket and slept with her. I had to protect her from the ELEMENTS. I was so sad to leave her, when it was time for me to go. Moür Moür had decided she would definitely keep Peebers, tho. There was no getting rid of a duck we’d worked so hard to save.
At Christmas, we all came back to Tara [that’s what we called Moür Moür’s house.] We had a family reunion. Peebers and I had a Jodi/Duck reunion. She was smaller than the other ducks, but she was still very friendly. And, as fate would have it, the leader of the all the ducks. They did whatever she did. But – queue the foreboding music – one of my aunt and uncles decided the Moür Moür desperately need a ratty, mean, evil, Scottie dog for xmas. I have no idea why. And that ratty, mean, evil dog went outside and took a gigantic bite out of MY DUCK!! They had to hold me back from first seeing the damage done to her, and then from going after the dog. As luck would have it, another uncle of mine is an exotic pet vet. We cleaned all the xmas foods off the breakfast bar and set up an impromptu surgery. We have these horribly bloody Christmas pictures of the operation. Someone even has video of it! Moür Moür’s overly decorated Christmas house and duck guts. But Peebers was saved!! it was a Christmas miracle!! and my aunt and uncle kept the ratty, mean, evil dog for themselves. Good thing… I was coming back next summer, and I would have brought some plans for that dog with me.