Hello, dear readers!
I'm in the midst of revising my next book (which I still can't tell you about till everything is finalized!) I've given you a few glimpses here and there, though... A few months ago, I did a post about my writer friend, Ron Cree's, pet skunk that he had as a kid. Not only is there a devilish rescued baby skunk character in my next book, but there's also a rescued duckling character... and wouldn't ya know it, Ron *also* had pet ducks as a kid. Ron's vivid descriptions of his relationship with his animals and their fascinating behavior were helpful to me in my research...
So, without further ado, I shall paste Ron's incredibly moving childhood duckling recollections (really, I got a lump in my throat at the end...):
"I was in the fifth grade (around 10 years old) when I
convinced my parents to let me purchase two duck eggs from the local
hatchery. Eggs were a much easier sell
than two live ducklings, and they were cheaper, too. I think I only paid a buck or so for each
one. They were about ¾ incubated, and
due to hatch in just a few days.
I set up a cardboard box in my bedroom and focused a strong,
100 watt bulb on the eggs, which I’d carefully nestled in some towels. I made sure to turn them at regular intervals
and stayed up late most nights, staring at them and dreaming about how amazing
it was going to be when they finally produced ducks! I was very impatient for them to hatch…it was
worse than waiting for Christmas.
Even now, nearly forty years later, I clearly remember the
excitement of the day my ducks were born.
I watched in awe as the eggs trembled and cracked. It took a huge amount of willpower to not
help them out of their shells. (I had a
book that explained what to do, and it stated very forcefully that you should
never “help” your ducklings during the hatching process.) I could see their bills breaking through the
eggs, and the urge to reach in and assist was nearly overwhelming.
After what seemed like hours, both ducklings had fully
emerged. They were wet and peeping up a
storm. The warmth of the lamp dried them
off pretty quickly, though, leaving them fluffy and yellow and unbelievably
cute.
I named them Puddles and Sunbeam and couldn’t resist picking
them up and playing with them, even though they’d just hatched. It was sort of love at first sight, both for
them and for me.
My book had explained the concept of imprinting, and I was
eager to try it out for myself. Less
than an hour after they were born, I put the ducklings on the floor and started
walking around. I was amazed (and still
am) at how they immediately began following me.
No matter how fast I moved, no matter how I zigged and zagged, they kept
right up with me, peeping all the while.
Over the next couple of weeks, we grew even closer. They’d follow me EVERYWHERE. I loved taking them outside and showing off
for the other kids in the neighborhood.
Even in a crowd of people, Puddles and Sunbeam never lost focus—they
always followed me and only me. I took
them to school for show and tell one day and they followed me up and down the
hallway and into the classroom. Even the
teacher thought they were adorable.
It was interesting to see the change in their personalities
as they grew. When young, they were
easily spooked and tended to stick very close.
I had to be careful not to step on them.
They were always visibly excited when I came home from school and played
with them.
As they grew into adults, they became hilarious. They still followed me everywhere, but now,
instead of being tiny and yellow and fluffy, they were gangly, white, and weirdly
independent. They remained quite
protective of me and had no problem facing down other animals, like my dog,
cats, squirrels, whatever that tried to come between us. They’d get into the face of anything they
perceived as a threat to me. They were
my protectors!
They had their own small swimming pool that they’d spend the
day in (during warm weather), and a secure hutch they’d sleep in at night. They ate plants and worms in the yard, and I
had to pay attention to keep them out of my mom’s garden. (I spent a lot of my allowance on Purina Duck
Chow…little pellets of who-knows-what that was the staple of their diet.) They liked being carried, and I can still
remember the feeling of tucking one under each arm like a football and lugging
them around town. Of course, whenever I
did put them down, they immediately fell into line behind me and just followed
me wherever I went.
They drew a lot of attention from people, but whenever
someone would approach us, they’d get all ruffled and start quacking
aggressively. They’d run in circles
around my feet. No one else could pick
them up.
They really didn’t have time
for anyone except me and each other.
I can’t say that they were particularly “loving” pets. I couldn’t cuddle with them or sit with them
in my lap. They couldn’t sleep with me
or even come inside the house, once they were grown. But they were extremely loyal and I couldn’t
get enough of them.
For my Mom and Dad, it was another story. As the ducks became adults, they became messy
and smelly. Lots of poop everywhere. My parents didn’t like that. Plus, they were loud. Their cute peeps became annoying quacks and
honks. They considered themselves the
“bosses” of me and of the yard in general.
They were surprisingly territorial.
Most strangely—it was as if they “knew” somehow they belonged to me, and
as my pets, they acted “entitled” or something.
It was weird.
I didn’t have them long…maybe a year. It got to a point where it was impractical to
keep them. We didn’t live on a
farm. We lived in the suburbs of
Cincinnati.
So my parents finally convinced me that my ducks would be
happier at the city lake with the other ducks.
I didn’t want that, of course, but I was only 11, so I didn’t have much
say.
I can remember the evening we took them to the lake and let
them go. They very quickly merged in
with a whole group of other domestic ducks, making them impossible to identify
by sight.
That night, I tossed and turned and cried and cried and
cried. It was horrible.
I went back to the lake almost every day for a month, hoping
to see them. And I did a couple of
times. They actually broke from the
crowd of other ducks and proceeded to follow me when I showed up!
But the day finally came when I showed up and they weren’t
there. Or they simply decided not to
follow me anymore. I eventually stopped
going and never saw them again.
I still remember them, though. Two of my favorite pets ever."
*****************
*sniff sniff* This is Laura here again. You know, I got inspired to have a rescued baby waterfowl character in this book after I found an abandoned Canadian gosling in the road last year. We brought her home and named her Grape, but soon had to deliver her to the wildlife rehabilitation center. I cried like crazy, and I'd only known her a few days. Here she is:
Oh, and one more thing-- if you're in the Fort Collins area, please come by and see me (and wonderful writer friends Laura Pritchett and Kayre Cattrell at the Old Town Book Fair on July 12! Here are details:
Saturday July 12, 1:00-2:00 pm, Local Author Tent, Old Town Book Fair,
Old Town Square, Fort Collins, CO
Ask a Writer – or Three!
Have questions about the writing process, finishing your novel,
or finding an agent? Or perhaps you'd rather talk about plot, character,
pacing, or setting. Whatever the questions, three acclaimed Fort
Collins authors will do their best to answer them while chatting about
writing and the writing life.
Free and open to everyone!
(See here for details and the full line-up of Book Fair activities.)
xo,
Laura
P.S. Besides, Baby Goose Grape, the other waterfowl in the photos here were randomly found through an online image search... I didn't have any pics of Ron's actual ducklings, but you can only imagine their cuteness.
