Close Encounters with Turkeys and Other Fowl
This post was originally a part of the now defunct Somnaplegic blog.
There’s a busy street, almost a highway, technically a boulevard, that runs right by the university I work at. On the north side of this road is a small stream that pops up from now where, runs a few blocks, and disappears again. It’s kind of crazy if you think about it, but really it’s just underground before it runs into the river. I honestly don’t know where it comes from, I suspect, the same river. In one small section is what folks call the duck pond, though it’s not technically a pond because water flows in and out.
Unsurprisingly, this pond is a frequent haunt of ducks. Mostly mallard ducks, though sometimes Canada Geese [2] and once I saw a blue heron. It is not uncommon to find cars stopped inexplicably in the middle of the street. If you look closely, you can almost always spot a line of ducks adorably waddling care free across the boulevard, traffic be dammed [3].
When I was in middle and high school, my grandparents owned, not exactly a farm, but a small farmish plot of land, complete with horse, quail, ducks, geese, and a whole lot of exotic birds [4]. There was even a big hole they dug in the ground and filled with water for a duck pond. FYI – if you ever want to make a simple pool, digging hole in the ground and encouraging ducks to shit in it works. There is nothing more water proof than a layer of duck shit, but also, super gross. Don’t swim in actual duck-made ponds.
Among the many species of fowl present were a flock of Muscovy ducks [5]. Remember how I said ducks are adorable? Muscovy ducks are not adorable. They look like something between a duck and a goose with a little turkey thrown in for shits and giggles. Their beaks have a sort of tooth-like dip in the tip that makes a nip particularly painful, and they love to nip. They’re big, largely unconcerned by larger animals, and they hiss. Seriously, they hiss like a fake movie snake. It’s supper creepy to have a 15 pound puffed up Muscovy duck bear down on you hissing with its head juking back and forth like some sort of nightmare bobble-head/jack in the box.
I love Muscovy ducks.
In addition to being, ugly, creepy and intimidating, they’re smart, funny, and extremely affectionate. I know this because I raised two of them from hatchlings.
One day, when I was about 12 or 13, my mom showed up with a box. She’d been visiting my grandma. Turns out, two ducklings showed up sans mother. Another of the females was trying to care for them, but her own brood was a few weeks older and too rambunctious for these little guys. I don’t know exactly what the decision process was, but it was settled that I would raise these tiny, fluffy bipeds [5].
I kept their heat lamp going, fed them twice a day, and changed the bedding in their box as needed. During TV time they sat on my lap and snuggled. I quickly learned to hold them backwards when carrying them about. They projectile pooped without warning and if you don’t want to sport a duck shit stripe down the back of your pants, you’ve gotta be diligent. Pip and Peep were charmers. Once free of the box, they followed me everywhere, nipping affectionately at my ankles and hissing greetings whenever I returned from being away.
I must confess, Pip was my favorite. Peep started out pure yellow, meaning he was destined to be pure white after he feathered up. Pip was yellow and brown and grew up mostly white with lovely parallel brown speckling in an almost striped pattern. Visitors always fawned over Peep and his lustrous white feathers, but Pip was the brains of the operation. Peep would have walked up and introduced himself to a rabid dog. Pip would have kicked the shit out of that dog. Pip knew his name and understood about a dozen phrases including “food” and “scritches.”
Once they feathered up, Pip and Peep took over the back yard. Our West Highland White Terrier largely ignored the ducks, but occasionally tried to muscle in and establish dominance by steeling some of their duck food – a sort of grain pellet he had zero interest in actually eating. When they were little, the ducklings took no note, but a much larger and cocky Pip decided he wasn’t having it one day. He nipped the dog a good one and then sat back on his haunches with a smug little head bob. Here’s the thing, Westies were bred to dig their way into holes in the ground and go toe to toe with badgers, nasty beasts with claws and jaws that could out weigh the dogs by as much as 10 pounds. There’s a reason the expression “like a terrier” referees to someone who won’t back down. But of course, the whole reason they were bred to go after foxes and weasels and badgers was to protect farm animals, like ducks. So here the three of us stand in a triangle like a Mexican stand off. The dog looks at the duck and then he looks at me.
Dog: Smallest human. I have been assaulted by the land bird. There must be consequences! I will head but the land bird and it will submit.
Human: You started this. Take your lumps and leave the duck food alone.
Duck: Neener-neener, pumpkin eater.
Dog: Smallest human! It taunts me! I am dog! It is land bird. This cannot stand!
Human: Nope
Duck then sticks his beak in food dish and flicks pellets at dog.
Dog vibrates and rumbles from within.
Dog: Smallest human! You see it’s disrespect! Land bird must submit! I am DOG!
Human: All right, I have had enough of you two. Dog! In the house. Duck. Stop being an asshole.
Dog reluctantly pads back through the sliding glass door into the living room, hops up on the couch and stares out the picture window at the duck.
Dog: I see you land bird. You WILL be punished.
Duck flings pellets at the window and hisses in hysterical duck laughter.
Other duck walks up and gleefully starts flinging food around.
Human: Stop flinging your food everywhere! You’re not getting anymore.
Other duck: Are we not playing fling the food? I like fling the food! Oh hello dog in the window! Do you want to come fling food with us? It is great fun. Why is human angry. I love the human. She is so nice and pretty and the best human ever! She gives us food to fling!
Duck Smugly walks away, dismissively wiggling his tale.
Human: Why am are arguing with a duck and dog!
Pip and Peep grew enormous (22 and 25 pounds respectively), even by muscovy standards, outgrowing the amount of bugs our back yard can produce. They were also, quite literally, beating me black and blue on a daily basis. Muscovy ducks show affection by whacking their heads into your ankles and gently nipping at you. My lower legs were a patchwork of bruises. So in fall, with the weather was turning cold, we bundled them into the car and took them back to my grandparents. Pip was quite intrigued by the whole thing and tried to hang his head out the window dog style. Peep, was very excited about the opportunity to sit in his beloved human’s lap and shit through the whole 20 minute trip.
We let them out of the car and peep immediately began waddling over to the other ducks, very excited about this new adventure. The brother Muscovy males who held dominion over the pond looked a little suspicious at this interloper, but welcomed him graciously. Pip, after holding back a moment, charged forward, whacked one right in the head, and then retreated behind me when he realized that the older males still had reach and experience on their side.
“Stop being an asshole, Pip. Go say you’re sorry”
He slunk back over and accepted a moderate “tap” in return from the other duck. Then he discovered, as had Peep, that there was a delightful hole of muddy water and raced in for a swim.
My grand parents had no need for 4 male Muscovy’s that could not be eaten and eventually found Peep a home with a gay couple who drove off in their tiny pick up truck with the delighted duck sitting between them on the bench seat. I heard later that he was a “house duck” with his own flap for going in and out. His favorite activity was sitting on the couch watching Law and Order. Pip remained and sired generations of new ducklings. Every time our car rolled down the driveway, he would waddle over from the pond hissing and bobbing to come beat the shit out of my ankles. As you do.
I hadn’t thought about the ducks in years until one day I turned through a busy 4 way stop on my route to work. There, down the gentle slope to a major intersection in the middle of the bike land that ran between the lanes of opposed traffic, was the biggest turkey I’ve ever seen. He was a grand fellow with an enormous puffed chest, impressive fanned out tail feathers, and truly distinguished waddle. He looked exactly like the kind of turkey you’d see pictured on advertising for a pot pie.
Exactly the kind of turkey you do not expect to see in the middle of a busy street.
I slowed down as I approached, uncertain what his intentions were. A car turned onto the street slowing down dramatically seeing the turkey. The driver and I exchanged glances. I shrugged, merged my bike into the car lane and stopped at the red light, right next to him.
“Hey turkey. You might want to get back to the woods. It’s just a bit to close to Thanksgiving for a fine fellow like yourself to be out and about in the city.”
He looked me straight in the eye, and with an indulgent sigh, simply responded, “Gobble, Gobble.”
Using my fluent skills in Duck, I took this to mean, “Shut up kid. I know what I’m doing.”
Fair enough.
***
[1] Interesting fact, female mallard ducks have evolved some pretty sophisticated biology to prevent from producing offspring via forced mating. https://nypost.com/2017/05/06/dont-be-fooled-ducks-are-sadistic-raping-monsters/
[2] It was explained to me by a Canadian that that it is wrong to call the honkers Canadian, as geese do not have citizenship.
[3] It is considered especially bad form to harm a duck in our town, as they are the school mascot. And come on, they’re super cute with their wiggly tails and rollicking gate. I have seen packs of students escort ducks across streets, and soil their nice clothes fishing in storm drains to pull out hapless ducklings who have fallen down in them.
[4] My grandmother made her living then breeding and raising exotic birds for pets. As a consequence, I know way more about bird care and behavior than anyone who’s not a vet or zoologist should. If you’re thinking about getting a bird for a pet, I can tell you how amazingly intelligent they are and how it’s a TERRIBLE IDEA to keep a pet that may very well outlive you by a few decades and has the intelligence and emotional development of a toddler.
[5] They are not, despite the name, from anywhere near Russia. They are actually South American. They don’t much care for flying.
[6] I suspect my grandparents had decided to squab them and my mom couldn’t stand seeing their adorable little baby duck faces knowing they would soon be a snack.
*This post was originally a part of the now defunct Somnaplegic blog.
