Sometimes, people ask NorthernDaddy how he can plan to kill and eat the "pet" ducks. The first (and easy) answer is that they are tasty. The second answer is: Revenge.
As much fun as it is to see the beautiful ducks splashing and playing in their swimming pool, there are a few disadvantages to raising ducks. They are messy. Until NorthernDaddy put down a layer of geotextile and covered it with river rock, the ducks would dirty the pool water almost immediately by dabbling in the mud and rinsing their heads. After the rock went down, the ducks have to walk ten feet to find a source of dirt/mud, which keeps the pool clean for, oh, about five minutes or so. Ducks are also slightly crazy - the slightest flash of light at night will send them into a berserk frenzy that has them bouncing off the walls of their house. That means that they have to be locked in for the night before it gets dark - or one has to walk out in the dark without a flashlight to lock them up. Not having a flashlight in the dark during skunk season is a very bad idea (at least to NorthernDaddy. Y'all can come on up here and give it a try yourselves if you want.)
The easily spooked nature of our feathered friends is how the Lost Duck Episode began. NorthernDaddy was doing his morning rounds and stepped into the duck house, leaving the door cracked open a little (can you see where this is going?). As he was pouring out the feed, some little movement or twitch or held breath spooked the flock and they exploded. Feathers and wood shavings were everywhere, ducks were bouncing off walls, and quacking - such loud quacking. All one could hear was quacking, except for the quiet whistle of wings as one duck winged out the door. In the two seconds that elapsed from the start of the spooking to the time that NorthernDaddy got the door pulled closed, one duck escaped. There are few words to describe NorthernDaddy's emotions as he watched his dinner fly ever higher and farther over the neighbor's house. He's guessing that nobody is ever happy to lose livestock (ducks count as livestock, dammit!) at five-thirty in the morning.
NorthernDaddy had a pretty mellow morning at work, but the day improved at noon because he was working half-days that week. He had a glimmer of hope that the missing duck would make its way home and be sitting close to the fence and his buddies. As Daddy pulled into the drive, he saw no evidence of a duck. Scanning the backyard.....the duck is sitting under the trees between the houses! Daddy quickly grabbed a broom handle (for herding, not for bashing the duck) and eased around the front of the house to try and herd the duck back to the pen. Now, picture NorthernDaddy sneaking around a big ol' tree with his arms out, holding a broomstick, and urging the duck to head out across the yard. The duck wasn't having any of it - as Daddy would get closer and turn one way, the duck would just turn and waddle the other way - just out of reach of the stick. After a few rounds of this, the duck got bored with it and flew off to the north over another neighbor's house. Not good. Daddy decided to wait several hours to see if the poor little ducky would come back. Five hours later, the duck appears under the trees again. This time, Daddy decides to try a different approach. Picture NorthernDaddy sneaking around a big ol' tree with his arms out, holding a broomstick and a blanket. He's going to toss the blanket over the duck and catch him that way! Well, it turns out that the duck is extremely wary of big brown blankets (or the goofy broomstick-holding, blanket-throwing creature that is chasing him), and it flies off to the west to points unknown. NorthernDaddy is sure that he will never see this duck again.
The next day, NorthernDaddy has to keep fielding questions from Toddler about whether the duck has come home or not. NorthernDaddy has thought that he's heard quacking throughout the day, but he hasn't seen the duck at all, so he's sure that the duck isn't ever coming home. Just as Daddy is finishing telling Toddler that the duck probably isn't ever going to come back, there is a loud QUACK. It comes from across the street, directly across from the front door. A search party is sent out, and finds the bleeping duck hiding up under the limbs of an evergreen tree. NorthernDaddy gets his broomstick (why are you laughing? Just because it didn't work the first two times....) and chases the duck through the thickest, most tangled mass of vines and weeds that he's ever been in. Forget herding the duck, if Daddy can get close enough he's going to smack the duck with the broomstick. It'd be better to have an under-grown duck in the freezer than to have one mocking Daddy from across the street. The fugitive webfoot turns out to be much faster through the weeds than Daddy, and gets away once again. No sightings or quacks for the remainder of the day. Damn duck.
The third day, the Northerns have totally given up hope of ever seeing the duck again. They go about their day and try not to think about ducky. When they stop by home after a mini-golf outing, NorthernDaddy hears an odd quack from the duck house area. Stepping around the corner, Daddy sees an incredible sight: the prodigal duck is sitting right next to the fence, talking to his buddies. NorthernDaddy grabs the blanket (definitely going to net a duck this time!) and charges after the fugitive. He gets there fast enough to scare the duck into climbing the poultry netting fence. Everybody knows that ducks can't climb, and Daddy thinks that he's got this thing done. At the last second, the duck scoots left and eludes the blanket. Good news is that the duck follows the fence around to the door side of the duck house. Daddy gets another shot at it! As the final throw of the net is readied, the duck scoots into the thick tangle of plants next to the duck house door. The door has been left open for the past few days to try and entice the duck to come back in (the others have been safely penned in the run). Daddy knows that the duck can only go forward into the duck house or back into the waiting blanket. He edges forward and hears the duck rustling in the plants. Ease him forward, ease him...the duck has other plans - he buries himself deep inside a bush, trying to work through it to freedom. Daddy steps in front of the bush and gets ready to dive in after the duck. First, he needs to call for Toddler's help. Toddler! Get NorthernMommy for backup! All of a sudden, the rustling stops and Daddy can't find the duck. Where's the duck? He got away again? Then, there's a bump from the trashcan in the duckhouse (yes, the ducks sleep inside an old metal trashcan) ----- the duck has run into the house! NorthernDaddy slams the door shut and everyone does a victory dance!
Yup, revenge for running away - that's why NorthernDaddy is gonna make heads roll this fall....
