Annie Dear: A new episode of 'Days of our Ducks'

I felt it was high time I gave you your 2012 episode of “Days of our Ducks.”

Yes, dear friends, it’s spring, and our ducks have returned. Now whether we have repeat ducks or not, I cannot say, not knowing the longevity of our avian friends with any certainty, but I can certainly spot some familiar characteristics in some.

I think we have our Howard and Gladys back, being the first pair to grace our yard – and I suspect they are repeaters as they seem less terrified of our presence. In fact, so calm are they that if I have forgotten to spread seed in their usual spot, they sashay up to the deck, hop up the two steps, poop profusely and effectively knock on the door saying, “Ah, excuse me? It’s about dinner?” with wings akimbo.

Now Sir has obviously channeled his mother from the Other Side (God bless you dear heart, by the way, if you happen to get The Examiner in heaven), and has become very thrifty with the allocation of bird seed.  

He strides up to the spot, glances around and deposits approximately half a cupful in one small spot.

How that’s all very nice and economical, but I can assure you when 12 ducks arrive en masse, or en flock if you will, it leads to a great brouhaha in the feeding department.

“No darling,” I yell from the confines of the kitchen as the ducks foment into a froth of tail pulling and general wingy-cuffs (like fisticuffs without the fists), “you have to strew, darling – s-t-r-e-wwwww.”

Sir then goes into hrumph mode claiming he knows nothing of strewing, and clomps back inside, leaving me to deal with the melee out back.

I thence sally forth and proceed to strew, and having done so, the ducks return and with far less fracas and proceed to feed with relative civility.

That is, until Chatty Kathy and Hoover arrive. We had a Chatty Kathy last year, but I can’t believe this is the same girl, as to be that cranky for two years must take it out of a duck. She’s the epitome of the ruffled feather syndrome. I’m not sure if she has an egg in an uncomfortable spot or what her problem is, but she’s a feisty wee thing and proceeds through life yelling her beak off.

Hoover is not hooked up with her, nor any other from what I can make out. He’s the bully of the team and goes into vacuum cleaner mode as he chases off every other duck in sight.

Hence his name, you see. A thoroughly nasty piece of work, I go into fourth grade teacher mode, clapping my hands and yelling at him that he’d better learn to behave. Unfortunately he obviously doesn’t feel the need to impress me, so he fails to sit up straight and pay attention.

Sadly this year we have Limpy Boy, where last year we had Limpy Girl. Obviously both came to an untidy landing somewhere along the line, both having broken their left legs, and forced to get around as best they could through the use of one leg and the judicious pulling themselves along by their beaks. I wish I was braver and I would try to go and rescue him and rush him up to the vet, but by the time I could possibly get a hold of him he would either have flown off, or died of fright.

And in our suburban outdoor buffet, I’m delighted to see that our squirrels are still around and a couple of bunnies – one being an enchanting baby – have graced us with their presence.

I’ve spotted one hummingbird so far, and am hopeful that I can gather a flock of those too. I’m not sure if hummingbirds flock – flick is far more likely – but whichever I find them fascinating.

Sir is still convinced we will have elk, deer and antelope at play, and ultimately the mountain lion which has been spotted in Missouri descending on us, obviously resulting in the tragically predictable outcome that one day I will go out to feed the birds only to find one fat pussy cat and a bunch of feathers, bones and fur adorning our yard.

Sir has thus named the area “The Duck Blind,” the restaurant for local avians and fauna. Petie Penguin, resplendent in his black and white, is naturally the imagined maître d’ and manager, who has unfortunately just had to dismiss all the deer as they made lousy valets, having that most unfortunate freezing problem when sighting headlights.

Raccoons, of course, form the wait staff, having those cute little hands to hold their trays.

“Would you care for the chef’s special tonight, or will you just wing it?”

”Check Sir, or shall I put it on your bill”?

Oh, believe me, Sir and I have spent many a very funny hour tittering up our sleeves thinking up new ones every day so that we’re tempted to launch our own website: duckpuns.com.

Stay tuned for next year’s thrill packed installment.