Our brain-damaged duck continued to dominate our yard and to wreak havoc on our household. An unsuccessful “release” and subsequent return of Quackers to the only home he knew reinforced that he was indeed “king” of his backyard forest and all its little creatures. I coped by heading back to work. The grandparents protected our children while my husband and I were gone. They could handle anything; they raised children during the 1960s.
Grandpa L., who was in the midst of fighting his own dementia (Alzheimer’s), took on the task of playing defender to the duck. Each time the duck chased the kids, Grandpa L. was there, and snatching up the duck faster than a goalie stops a puck across the ice. How he managed to do this was a mystery to us, as Grandpa L. was unsteady on his feet. Yet, when called to act, Grandpa L. grabbed this duck, while the rest of the household, save Dale, could not. Both duck and grandpa received plenty of exercise that summer. By July’s end, Quackers had grown fat, almost behemoth, sort of like a fully stuffed, 40 pound Butterball turkey, only this was no turkey, just a snowy, white duck with flaming, orange feet and bill. Only adults in good physical condition could lift him.
Registration forms for the Monterey County Fair were due soon. Our twelve-year-old daughter, Meg, who was raising a pig, suggested showing Quackers in the poultry division. We agreed that Quackers could join us at the fair, but no one had any desire to hold him. Quackers would be strictly “shown for judging,” but not in the “showmanship” event. No one in the family, or in the entire 4H club for that matter, wanted to participate in showmanship competition with that duck. Far too dangerous.
In showmanship, the 4H member demonstrates how to handle the animal, such as goat, chicken, sheep, rabbit, cattle, or duck. The competitor’s job is present the animal to the judge and to demonstrate how easily he/she works. As an example, their owners, who use a cane for physical prodding, maneuver pigs around the corral. Come “fair time,” it is apparent which kids “exercised” their pigs, and which kids did not. Pigs that dart, while barking like dogs, and who run down other pigs or small children or elderly, are pigs that did not receive adequate exercise. Other pigs stroll along, with gentle encouragement by the cane, reveal their well-developed ham-hocks or shoulders, from their exercise. There was no way any of us could handle this unruly duck. The duck could compete, but not in showmanship.
The morning of the fair, we lined the familiar orange crate with a bedding of hay, while Grandpa L. set Quackers inside. We drove the 20 miles with Quackers’s head peering out of the crate and squawking the entire way. At check in, the poultry division leader immediately called for the largest cage available—likely one used by Macaws, Iguanas, or something even larger. Quackers was banded and checked for disease and the leaders remarked they had never seen such a healthy, prime specimen. Quackers attempted to bite their hands, but these were professionals, and they knew exactly how to handle this difficult bird.
The first day of the fair was children’s day, where processions of schoolchildren marched through the animal exhibits. Most of these kids lived in the city and only saw farm animals at fair time. The poultry barn was the first barn in the livestock area, so the children’s energy and enthusiasm for the day was at a peak of excitement. Posted at each entry to the barn, above each block of cages, on every post, were warning signs cautioning NOT to put fingers in the cages. Beneath the warning signs, in smaller print, was the explanation that this disturbs the fragile birds. Young children do not read signs, so teachers and poultry leaders cautioned children to look, but not to touch the cages. For some, of course, this was not a warning, but an invitation. Quackers was at the far end of the block, near the back, waiting. Kids ran their fingers along the cages just as they would run a stick along a picket fence, enjoying the thud-thud-thud and resulting flap-flap-flap as the birds freaked and flew to the back of the tiny cage for safety. Except when they arrived at Quackers.
Quackers squatted at the edge of his cage, ready to bolt for freedom, ready to reclaim his yard, ready to bite whoever dared approach. One crying, screaming child after another learned a lesson that day, and the poultry leaders loved that bird even more. At the end of judging, Quackers won Best of Water Fowl, Best of Show, and $14.
Love is Complicated 