“C’mon,” the young girl turned and coaxed. “You can do it.” And
the little green thing that drew looks of surprise did just what
the girl asked: Walk down the sidewalk. Up the stairs. Into the
coffee shop. It waddled, squeaking – a handful of
ever-so-determined green fluff.
It was the Easter green dye on the week-old duckling that did in
my daughter. She wanted to adopt all the colored creatures in the
feed store, but realized she could rescue only one.
The imprint was immediate. Girl and duckling were inseparable.
She carried ducky in her purse and when in safe places, let ducky
follow behind her.
Then came the job offer with the raise, and the chance to get
that place to live in that was oh, so perfectly vintage for the
girl of 19.
Ducky’s voice was beginning to crackly quack in a deeper voice,
and its itsy-bitsy wings that never grew suddenly took on a spread
the width of my macaw’s wings.
Ducky was still stuck like glue to my daughter, but when the
move on Independence Day arrived, a decision had to be
made.
We said we would keep Ducky for a while – we were an acceptable
second-hand flock to this little creature.
We learned “Dilly” Duck, as we nicknamed her, is one bright
chick. She happily swishes around in her baby pool at 90 mph,
thinking it’s great fun to drench everyone. And the nanosecond she
hears an approaching airplane, she cocks her head sideways to look
at the sky, circumspect of that flying thing.
When one of us steps away to water a plant, out of the pool she
slams, quickly waddling with sounds of splat, splat, splat, as her
wet, webbed feet suction-cup the deck. “Quaaaack, quaaaack,” she
implores, looking us straight in the eye. “Now don’t make me get
outta this pool too many times and chase you down,” she
fusses.
The dog sniffs around the boiled egg she’s eating – and it’s
another opportunity for swift discipline. She waddles after the dog
until she can extend that neck long enough to give him a nibble and
make him yelp.
She’s right at home smack dab in the middle of the family flock,
sitting at the feet of my significant other, or up on his shoulder
when invited. She knows he’s a “boy” and she stares at him
patiently until she catches his eye. She inches her way and leans
against his feet where he can easily scratch between her wings. She
closes her eyes and drifts off …
If he leaves the room, she scolds him when he returns with a
sharp and rapid “qackqackqackqack!” Where have you been? she
demands, her dark eyes searching his face.
The other birds laugh at her scolding him. “Hey, shuddddup!” one
says. “Aflackkk!” another responds.
Nighttime falls and the macaw has long given it up. His head is
buried in one wing as he sleeps on his swing.
The African Grey is wide awake, chatting. “Get down from there!
Hey, Gus, no barking,” he says to the dog. “Hey, Terri? How do you
like me now?”
“Go night-night,” I say. “Oh yeah? Well, same to ya, buddy,” he
taunts me.
Amid her soft squeaker protests, we lift Dilly, with fresh
diaper in place, into her modified cage and fill her food and
water.
She gratefully snorts a high-pitched “thankyou- thankyou,” as
she dives into the water and throws her neck upward to
swallow.
So, worn out from the day’s flock activities, she settles down,
yellow beak pushed snugly into a snow-white feathered wing. She
knows she has no predators here. Safe and secure, she sleeps
soundly into the next day’s dawn.
Terri Moon Cronk is
managing editor,
Elbert County News
tcronk@ccnewspapers.com