Wednesday, March 11

And They Call it Ducky Luv-ah-uv-uv

Winston came into my life two weeks ago. He gave me what I interpreted to be a wink. When I gazed into his big brown eyes my heart was aflutter.

I was smitten.

My husband said, “No. I won’t let you. There’s not room for both of us in your life!”

I said, “Sorry, sweetheart. If I have to choose between you and Winston, right now it’s gotta be Winston.”

Winston said, “Quack!”

Really it was more of a chirp, Winston was only a few hours over being a day old and it was the best he could muster.

Now my fowl beau has tripled in size—and messiness. It’s amazing how much poop a duckling can emit! I confess I spoiled him from the start: hand grated carrot nibbles and finely diced boiled egg (chicken, of course) are his favorites. I toss both carrot nibbles and tiny egg dices with little bits of lettuce and baby duck starter feed and serve it up on pricey paper plates. Yesterday, when I read on the Internet that applesauce is good treat I rushed out and bought the best baby food applesauce I could find—organic, you betcha! Nothing but the best for my new heart throb.


Did you know that feeding ducks bread is bad for them? Not enough nutrients, like feeding nothing but candy to your child. Ducks and geese like bread, and will clamor for it much like a child will ask for candy. But bread has no nutritional value for waterfowl, it fills their stomachs up so that they do not eat the foods they need in order to remain healthy. Birds without proper nutrition will quickly succumb to disease and death.

As much as I love Winston, it’s hard to admit I’m really only duck-sitting. Winston’s owner—AKA my son’s friend who had to have a duck because it was so cute but his mother said no because she didn’t think it was so cute—will soon be making arrangements for a permanent home.

For my husband that can’t come soon enough.

Right now, Winston resides in a box (except when we let him paddle through the tiled entryway as we follow behind with a Lysol wipe) in our mudroom. No matter how much his box is changed, that part of the house has seemed to take on a little bit of ode de’ duck. Enamored as I am, it doesn’t bother me—usually it would make me CRAZY—but, like they say, love does funny things to a person.

Other noses, however, have been more discriminating, causing eyebrows to raise.

“You have a DUCK in the house?”

I lit a new cinnamon candle yesterday that has seemed to, um, cover things nicely.

Life with Winston has been fun, he’s good company, a conversation piece and a downright genuine sweetheart who wins over every heart. Late one night I caught my husband kneeling next to the box and whispering sweet ducky nothings as he stroked Winston’s head. Looking at the two of them together I found myself wondering if there wasn’t some way we could keep our fluffy new friend. It wouldn’t be easy—if we ever introduce Winston to our Huskies I know they will be tempted to give him a new name: Dinner.

A neighbor has offered to construct a pond for Winston this spring. My husband didn't say no...

...we’ll see what happens…

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