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A Duckling Experience

By Marcella Mary Durr part 2

    In contrast, the cats were another story, especially Peaches. A beautiful fifteen-pound ginger tabby three times as large as the ducks, he could have been a formidable foe. However, Peaches chose denial as his coping mechanism. Whenever Belle and Boodles attempted to engage him, he ignored them deaf to their cacophony. We, on the other hand, worried about neighbors' complaints, never mastered this level of complacency and would scurry like lemmings trying to quiet them down with bribes of green beans and corn.

    A second advantage to domesticity with ducks was cheap entertainment. Their aquatic acrobatics provided daily comic relief. Steve had built a three-step platform so the ducks could climb in and out of the pool (a free-standing kidney-shaped pond) without effort. Belle was Esther Williams. Gracefully ascending and diving off the steps, she'd plunge to the pool's bottom and surge through the water, flapping to a beat only she could hear. Then, she'd surface, turn, and drift across only to repeat. Unlike Belle, Boodles was neither creative nor coordinated and he never mastered stairs. He would awkwardly propel himself to the top and stand teetering on the edge with a fifty/fifty chance of plunging into the water or toppling into the grass. Besides these comedic stylings, Belle and Boodles proved their worth in other ways as well.

    Comedy was not their only virtue. They were practical. They rooted, muddled, sifted, and scoured the yard for tasty tidbits. The preferred menu consisted of not only grasshoppers, crickets, and leaf hoppers, but also sow, or armadillo, bugs- the duck version of Pez candies-grubs, and even palmetto bugs. In the South, anything that gets rid of palmetto bugs is a valuable commodity!

    Not only were Belle and Boodles apt exterminators, but also congenial gardening companions. I was never lonely, for they were by my heels, under my feet, on my flowerpots, or in holes that I dug, anxiously awaiting any unearthed insects. Belle would vigilantly trail at my heels, always in front of Boodles, to grab whatever I dug up: root, weed, or bug. We weeded to a tune of short, staccato quacks that provided a steady rhythm for my trowel and amusement for me.

    From the day that Belle and Boodles wobbled into our lives, we enjoyed many benefits. We had no need of pricey garden statuary as our backyard was graced with beautiful, living ornaments. Our grass was well fertilized and almost bugless. Our lives were more adventuresome. We had become acquainted with dumpster diving and bait shops, hitherto unknown areas.

    Nonetheless, as all creatures, Belle and Boodles grew in stature and need. With time, we realized that they needed to find their own flock, so we called a friend who is a wildlife rehabilitator with a canal-front home to make arrangements for our ducks' new digs. Shortly after, Belle and Boo shuffled away to grander and greener waterfronts. I know they are where they belong, yet whenever I pass a pond with Pekins serenely floating on its glassy surface, I miss them. Each Easter, I scan want ads for ducklings, but I until I have a true pond or lake to accommodate these beautiful and friendly fowl, I will simply look and fondly reminisce about my ducky days with Belle and Boodles. For a mere $10 investment, I gained two gardening partners, pesticide agents, and, most importantly, two faithful friends. Name me one stockbroker who ever netted a return like that from a nest egg.

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