Duck!
Kristan Dael
50plus Magazine
Four years ago, a lovely man who’d recently begun helping with my yard arrived holding a glossy black football. Wha-what? No, it was “Tweet Tweet,” an all-black duck (beak, feathers, feet), until the sun revealed beautiful teal and navy highlights.
The unlikely pair was here a lot, and I came to adore them. Tweet didn’t like me at first, honking indignantly and jumping (high!) to peck my thigh. It was hilarious, and I confess I razzed her.
Recently Scott had gotten two ducklings. Then, suddenly, he was gone. Friends were shocked and heartbroken, scrambling to keep things together.
Tweet’s last months had already been brutal: she’d nearly died from a raccoon attack. Now her “dad” and constant companion was gone. And now, at a friend’s (temporarily caring for all three ducks), chickens were attacking her.
That’s when I got a call.
With all she’d suffered, it seemed kindest to bring Tweet to mine. She knew me, the property, and my dog Blue — with whom she peacefully coexisted. Here she would be safe and hopefully find comfort in familiarity.
I’d never had a duck, so I researched like mad, duck-proofed the yard, and stocked treats beyond those I knew she loved (cherry tomatoes, canned corn).
“Get seedless grapes,” they said.
Tweet: No.
“Ducks love frozen peas,” they said.
Tweet: Disgusted NO.
I did my best — for her comfort, safety, and yes, her pleasure.
Meanwhile, I’d found the ducklings a perfect little farm, complete with ducklings their age. Yay! This after reaching out to rescues, sanctuaries, and neighborhood “duck” people — both to home the ducklings, and for guidance on caring for Tweet, who I assumed was with me for life.
Then, Anita called. I told her the ducklings had been homed, and a bit of the backstory. She kindly empathized, then told me that her drake “Frederick” had recently lost his mate and was very sad. She was hoping to find him a mate.
The longer we talked, the more I thought: was this Tweet’s shot at a happy-ever-after? A chance to live like a real duck?
At mine, things worked okay, but. . . Tweet tolerated a safety pen out back when I had to be away, and one in the garage at night. Blue (resentfully) tolerated the competition for attention and being denied duck feed. As for me, I constantly cleaned and endeavored to keep Blue from the duck feed and Tweet from coming inside. I failed occasionally at the latter, realizing Tweet had come in the slider when I heard her sweet “twirly” song of exploration.
At Anita’s, Tweet would have a pond, a beautiful property (no pens!), and even a mate. After all the pain, could this be a collective blessing?
Hoping so, we decided Tweet would join Anita’s family when they returned from vacation a week later.
Until then, I enjoyed her. I learned more “duck” every day — behaviors like happy nodding, the joy of foraging, helping with yardwork, and hovering to be petted. Also vocal expressions like her exploration song, honking for attention or food, and, in time, contented silence. She is a joy.
As much as I wished she could stay, surely a rural duck’s paradise with experienced owners and a loving mate promised her best life. Friends agreed.
I wept the morning she left — as happens with fostering. But, as with those I’d loved and homed before, the pain lifted with a text showing Tweet’s joyful nodding and quacking upon her release at the farm. Even better, she and Frederick bonded as if being reunited.
The following day Anita texted that Frederick was happy, busily showing Tweet “all the cool spots.”
* * *
This experience was a “clinic” in a village at work. Heartfelt thanks to: Tammy for rushing antibiotics from Vancouver after Tweet’s racoon attack. To Scott’s roommate for letting me know the chickens were attacking her. To Dani at McKenzie Feed for connecting Anita and me. To Jill for lovingly transporting Tweet from Portland to Klamath Falls (and for mealworms!).
And to Scott . . . for being a wonderful friend and helper to so many. He is dearly missed, and I hope he knows his flock is happy and safe.