Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Duck Drama

Henry Poole
“There’s a new duck in the chicken coop. Check it out.”

Our hoard of grandchildren thundered past me to “see” the new duck.

“How did that happen?” My husband asked.

“The grandchildren?  Or the duck?”

He sighed. “The duck.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. Seems Doris’ daughter, Margo who sells Harleys, met a lady at a biker rally whose daughter was raising a duck in her back yard but now she and her college roommates are moving to a new apartment where ducks are not allowed and Margo remembered that we wanted ducks, not knowing that we had already gotten ducks from the Tractor Supply Company and raised them in a metal bucket.”


“Exactly. The two college roommates brought Henry Poole, the duck, in a leopard print cat carrier—drunk. The roommates not the duck.”


“Yeah, so they were driving around Saint Cloud drunk with a duck.”

“How does this stuff happen to you?”

“Rumors and scuttlebutt.” I sighed. “The best part is when the college roommates—Tiffany or Brittany, or Jenny, or some such—informed me that Henry Poole was used to eating people food. I let them know that he’d be eating sad old duck food from now on.”

Our "state of the art" duck pen.
“How did that go over?”

“Fine. It was when Charles Dickens, our duck, tried to murder Henry Poole that they seemed a bit shocked by the rules of the chicken coop and farm life in general.”

He shook his head and looked resigned. “Did Charles Dickens kill Henry Poole yet?”

“Not yet, but the jury is still out. I’m keeping everybody separated until they sober up—the ducks, not the roommates. The good news is that Miss Havisham, Charles Dickens’ wife, has started laying eggs.”

“Nice. Let’s celebrate. I’ll make omelets.”

“You’re on,” I said.

And that’s where omelets come from children, not the grocery store and not giant refrigerated trucks. Omelets come from eggs. Eggs laid by Miss Havisham. Eggs that Charles Dickens the Drake will defend to the death, even if he has to drown Henry Poole in the cast iron bathtub in the duck pen. It’s a jungle out there in the chicken coop of life. Stay frosty. Stay focused.

Charles Dickens and Miss Havisham
Linda (Lucky Ducky) Zern


1 comment:

Marie Teemant said...

I just got this mental picture of Havisham laying an egg on that moldy old wedding cake whilst quacking to herself. Are there any chickens named Pip? I think you at least need a Sydney Carton.

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