The Friends of Mr. Cairo

A short story about our funky ducks.

            Run for your duck lives it’s the humans! After a quick-quacky debate, the four ducks opt for their habitual response�"evasion terror. In a mishmash of waddling/ running/flapping, the four oddball ducks flee as we approach.

These quirky quackers came with the small farm we purchased last mid-July, and rather standoffish, these guys react this way whenever we come around. The three big multi-colored fatties have free roam of the place, splashing and diving playfully in the pasture’s small pond, hanging out in the feed area, or patrolling for whatever they can scrounge from the lawn�"vegetation, earth-wormy or buggy foodstuffs, we’re sure we don’t want to know. They always stay around the barn as long as we don’t get too close.

The previous owners held our fourth, pitifully small female duck captive in a ramshackle mess of chicken wire, junk, rotten hay, and boards, stones and filth. We were told the three fatties picked on her and broke her eggs. Without a suitable male, her eggs would never hatch anyway, so within the first day of ownership we emancipated her. As a newfound freedom-loving duck, she earned the name Lady Goodduck.

            Lady was pitiful, actually suffering malnutrition from her incarceration. She was skinny and indeed the others picked on her figuratively and literally, but she had a strong heart, eventually standing up to the three fatty ducks-thugs. With that gangsta’ reflection, we named the duck-mob The Friends of Mr. Cairo�"chicken-hearted duck-thugs. The ringleader, Mr. Cairo, (remember, we have no idea of his gender) wasn’t the biggest, but he was the brightest colored and the baddest�"first to start trouble, tell the others where to go, and decide what is on their all important daily duckagenda. Mr. Cairo is green-headed with a bluish hue crowned with a short, cropped pinfeather mohawk. The remainder of his feathered décor is black and brown. Tux is the middle-sized duck�"dark with black, gray, and brown feathers, but he sports a white-shirted tux and has what looks like a black pinfeather ponytail down the back of his head and neck. Tux’s usually a follower, but he can be a mixer when he’s bored. Finally, Whitey might be considered the strong-arm of the group. Mostly white with some black streaks and sporting a dark pinfeather mohawk, he’s the biggest but dumbest of the group and seldom causes trouble listening and following orders from the other three. Together, the punk-duck-thugs cruise the farm, eventually lead by the diminutive Lady Goodduck.

We don’t understand how Lady became the duck tour guide or lady boss-duck, but she was a mallard, half the size of the other three with funky wingtips that stuck straight up toward the sky. When she ran from us in terror, she looked like an old granny duck with skinny, pointy elbows held out and up to keep balance while making her waddling/ running/flapping escape. Strange to see little Lady zipping ahead with her elbow/wings a-goin’ leaving the three chubby waddlers behind.

Their poultry waterier (think: office water cooler) is aside the small red barn and near their automatic corn vending machine. The Friends of Mr. Cairo like to hang out at the cooler and discuss the fine eating in the lawn (whatever it may be) or the day’s gourmet corn kernels (that came from the same bag of corn that lasts a couple months). We have attempted to approach the ducks to make friends while they’re drinking and hanging out. Lady Goodduck always takes off right away, but the other three convene a duck-cussion concerning the situation. Mr. Cairo will quack a quick meeting, calling Whitey and Tux to conference. Lady just continues on her way. The three face each other stretched tall and quack back and forth with furtive glances our way wondering if we’ll bother them. They look intently at each other: Whitey and Tux at Mr. Cairo. Quacks back and forth.  Mr. Cairo looks at Tux, then at Whitey. He quacks. He glances at Lady scooting away. Quacks. Then back and forth again. Should they stay, hang tough or bolt? With anxious looks in our direction and a couple more quacks, they agree to flee: “Waddle for your lives!” And there they go.

Last fall, Lady Goodduck disappeared for awhile, and the three fatties vigilantly searched the yard fence’s parameter for their pint-sized duck tour leader. She turned up a couple days later apparently; she snuck away for vacation time beyond a gap in the fence. The four returned to their foraging, relieved to have Lady Goodduck back in the duckfold.

Sorry to say though early last winter, soon after the first frost, and perhaps due to her earlier foray beyond the safety of the yard, Lady Goodduck was no more. We found her remains: Think Marie Antoinette. We’re not sure if the remaining three Friends of Mr. Cairo’s tiny brains processed the demise of Lady for they seemed directionless for a couple days, but they didn’t search for her like when she went on vacation. It’s hard to say what goes on inside those diminutive duck brains.

Deep into the cold, dark winter, we managed to get closer to the three. They hung out most of the time in the wind-shielded lean-to attached to the barn after the two ponds froze solid, and we provided corn and warm water for them to sit in. We think they appreciated the effort, but our effort sure didn’t change their opinion of us. Even when the temperature dipped to zero, they made every attempt to escape, but apparently their feet were freezing because they’d take a few slow, waddling steps and ruffle feathers, fold their legs up close to their bodies and hunker down. Then, during an especially brutal snowstorm, they stayed out in the open field and in the morning, we saw what we thought were frozen duck lumps in the deep snow. Thinking the worse, we approached, but Tux heard us, raised his snow-encrusted head and with a couple quacks roused the other two snowy lumps, the three shaking the snow from their heads. They discussed us with a cold-induced slow quacking stupor considering if they should bolt, but we backed off rather than to disturb their warm snow nests.

The three Friends are still with us this spring. They made the trip to the big pond, a quarter mile away, but for heaven’s sake don’t approach them enroute because they’ll call a discussion and then bolt waddling for their lives either to the barnyard or the big pond depending what they’re closest to. They’ve endured some high winds on the pond where they paddled endlessly all day bucking the stiff wind and the undulating rocking surf, and toward evening they manage to make it back to the barnyard thoroughly exhausted.

The three ducks make the trip to the pond daily and seem to be comfortable and at ease swimming with a pair of nesting Canada Geese, flocks of Mergansers and Goldeneye Ducks. Maybe it’s wishful thinking on their earth-bound brain-parts when they watch the aerial-mobile wild ducks launch up and away as we approach, but the three are calmer and happier out there, swimming elegantly and serenely away creating three gentle duck-wakes in the water without the usual foot-based frantic response…                

                       

Reviews

[wondering]

cute. made me laugh, can picture them waddleing around. maybe need to get a new female.