The Duck (2)(Marla) You may have read the first duck story. If not, the gist of it was that a duck decided to live with me, and I didn’t kick him to the curb.

Anyway, for quite some time, everything was fine. The duck was pleasant company, and he stayed in the sunporch and backyard. One day last week, however, that changed.

I came home and went into the sunporch to relax as usual. I watched my show on my laptop. The duck sat next to me. After the show, I got up to make dinner. When I opened the door, the duck just pushed his way through! He simply walked right inside as if he had every right to do so. “Felix, no,” I said. (I’d named him Felix, because “Hey, Felix” sounds better than “Hey, Duck.”) He just kept on waddling. He turned left and went down the hall. “Felix, this isn’t going to fly.”

Felix froze. Then he turned around to face me. It took six little duck steps to accomplish the about face.

And what I saw was shocking. I know that ducks don’t have eyebrows, but I promise you that he looked as if he raised his eyebrows at me! The message was clear: “You do realize that I could fly right now, in your house, if I wanted to.”

“Okay,” I said. “Bad word choice. What I meant is that I don’t have animals in my house. The porch is fine, but not my house. Animals are messy.”

Well, that duck didn’t just waddle back to me; he stomp-waddled, and it was so unexpected rather frightening. He stomped toward me, and then past me to one of the end tables by the couch. He glared at me as he nudged the candy dish, dusted the end table with his wing, and nudged the candy dish back, finishing with another dusting of the table. He did all of this without ever losing eye contact with me. It is not something that I can forget anytime soon. It was odd. Bordered on horrific. I know that sounds dramatic, but I mean it when I say that he stared right into my eyes (my soul!) the entire time he cleaned the table.

Then, and I promise that this is true, he side-stepped back to the porch, still glaring at me, and pointed to the door with his wing, and tilted his head. I didn’t have to walk over there to know that if I checked the porch, I wouldn’t see any mess that the duck had made.

“Fine,” I said. “You win. You may use the spare bedroom. Come on, Felix.”
He followed me down the hall and to the spare bedroom. He stepped inside and waddled around a bit. Then he looked at me, this time with his usual calm and kindness. He might have even smiled.

I went to the kitchen and made my dinner. I placed his food on a paper plate (I wasn’t ready to let him use my dishes.) and then sat down to eat. He waddled into the dining room. He saw the plate on the floor. He looked at it for a moment. Then he looked at me. And stared.

I stared back, but I didn’t last long. I picked up his plate and placed it on the table. I know, it’s so undignified, but standing up to a duck is much more difficult than anyone would believe.

He wiggled from side to side a few times, and then he used a short flight to get himself onto the chair.

And we ate dinner at the table together. This is so embarrassing to even write down, but the truth must be told, and here it is.

It’s been a several days now, and I have come to accept it the fact that he wants to have a room and we wants to eat at the table. Even with that, Felix isn’t a bother. He dusts for me every day, so in that way, the arrangement is an approvement.

Felix and I still watch my show together, and he still doesn’t interrupt, and I can still say that life with a duck is good.

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