It was the height of summer when I found a brown duck swimming around our goldfish pond like it owned the place. It stared me down fearlessly as if to say, “I was here first. Go find your own pond.”
I was happy to have a new guest. After all, how much trouble could a wild duck be?
Our property has long been a home for waifs and strays. We’ve taken on geriatric roosters and aged sows, not to mention the occasional stray human. I immediately set about making sure the stray duck felt welcome.
Feeding our guest
I assumed she was a female Mallard. I brought out some crackers and threw them on the ground. She came over, nibbled, and promptly spat the crackers out. Then she whispered the oddest, most nasal and soft sound I’ve ever head from a duck.
“Bap-bap”
She seemed to be scolding me for the sub-standard food I was offering. I tried not to take the insult personally. Instead I did what I always do when confronted with a rural mystery. I called Aussie Bronwyn.
“What do you feed a duck?” I asked.
“Well, bread soaked in milk, of course,” Aussie Bronwyn said. “Ducks don’t like things too dry. Are you fattening a duck for the table?”
“Um, no. I’m making friends with a wild duck in our goldfish pond.”
“That sounds like trouble.”
“Why?”
Aussie Bronwyn sighed deeply, no doubt amazed that after all this time in the country I was still so shockingly stupid.
“Ducks are filthy, dirty pigs,” she said. “They’re like the bachelor blokes of the animal kingdom. They leave the dishes stacked in the sink, they never scrub the toilet, and they have noisy parties. Mark my words, if you don’t chase that duck away it’ll turn your lovely goldfish pond into a toxic wasteland.”
“But she’s so cute,” I said.
“Mark my words,” Aussie Bronwyn said. “Mark my words.”
Life with a pet duck
The very next day I began feeding bread soaked in milk to our new guest, who I’d started to call Little One. She quickly gobbled it up and begged for more.
Soon we fell into a bit of a routine. In the morning I’d find Little One waddling around the edge of the pond like a queen strolling the palace grounds. She’d greet me and offer her whispered, nasal hello. She was very quiet. In the evening, when CJ and I came home from work, she would be standing on the front deck, ready for her royal banquet.
“Bap-bap,” she’d say. “Where’s my dinner, boys?!”
This was clearly a duck with entitlement issues.
As the days went by, Little One never once made a proper quacking noise, and she showed no signs of being able to fly at all. In fact, she never even stretched her wings. I looked around to see if she’d laid any eggs, but I found none.
Leave it to me to end up caring for the most pathetic duck in the Southern Hemisphere – one that didn’t quack, fly, or lay eggs. It was like having a web-footed cat.
Unfortunately, as Little One became more settled into life at our goldfish pond, she began trampling everything that CJ had carefully planted. In one spot she turned a patch of particularly precious succulents into a very comfortable day bed.
“That’s it,” CJ said, “We’re making duck soup.”
I glared. “The only way we’re making duck soup is if it’s followed by roasted pet kunekune.”
That shut him up for a while.
Soon Little One was eating out of my hand, and she’d grown so used to us that she actually began stepping into the house to demand her supper if I was running late.
Unfortunately she also began using our front deck like an army latrine. Every day I found more green slimy blobs. You might think this would have put an end to my complicated relationship with her, but how could I heartlessly evict an adorable duck from its happy home?
Instead, every evening before I fed Little One I simply hosed down the deck. This upset her terribly, and she made sure to tell me so.
How to determine duck gender
Eventually Aussie Bronwyn stopped by to check out the situation. She laid eyes on that duck, listened to her odd little, “Bap-bap,” and said, “That’s no lady. That duck’s an adolescent male.”
“Huh?”
Male Mallards, it turns out, have a relatively quiet and whispery voice. It’s the females who have the loud, strong voice. (I know married couples like this. Perhaps they have Mallard genes.) Apparently novice bird watchers often confuse juvenile male Mallards with the females, because the young boys don’t yet have the luminous green head the adult males are known for.
Suddenly it was all clear. Little One was the duck version of a wayward teenage boy – messy, a little smelly, still convinced the world revolves around him, and not yet old enough to fly.
“Or maybe he broke a wing,” Aussie Brownyn said. “That would explain why he’s hanging around. That and the three course meal you put on every night.”
“It’s only two courses,” I said, somewhat defensively.
Things went on fine for another couple of weeks. Then, one day when I got home from work I looked out on the deck to see that Little One wasn’t there. I wandered out with some milk-soaked bread in my hands, calling to him, but he was nowhere to be found.
The next evening he was back on the deck and demanding dinner.
“Well,” I said, “I suppose you’ve come back just to do your laundry and get a home cooked meal.”
After I fed him, he waddled away and turned toward a gap in the trees.
Then the most startling thing happened. He looked up at the sky, flapped his wings, and flew away. After watching this duck waddle everywhere for a solid month, I was flabbergasted. It was absolutely beautiful.
I haven’t seen him since.
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I can’t stand it when you do that to me, get all involved in the saga of “Little One” and then turn that involvement into a lump in my throat as “he flapped his wings and flew away…it was beautiful.” And…of course, it was beautiful.
Wow – how wonderful. Perhaps he was just building up his strength to fly away. Great story told with your usual panache.
I wonder if Little One will bring home a lady friend to introduce to you one day… you and CJ could end up being godparents to fluffy little ducklings! Now there’s a thought. (teehee…)
I’d love that. I should put out a welcome sign on the roof. “Come back Little One!” 🙂
we raised a duckling rescued from the stream at the bottom f our garden, she stayed for a year and went off with the other ducks, next year she came back with all of her ducklings and she did this for two years and then stopped, Im sure she told all the other ducks as at one point we were feeding 22ducks! my husband purchased barrels of breadcrumbs from breadcraft to feed them, Our pet duck was an absolute joy and she used to sleep in the cat basket. Lovely memories, I bet Littleone returns . .
22 ducks! Fantastic! I love the image of a duck in a cat basket.
I love the pic of Little One coming in to your home. So sweet and I wouldn’t have done anything any differently.
Try NOT to feel bad…when you remember that the last words you EVER said to him (just before duck-shooting season) were cynical, cold and aloof! He may well have flown to his very death with your rejection rattling around inside his feathered head.
But hey, not trying to make you at ALL guilty…no, no, no! LOL
I actually don’t think Little One spoke much English. I think he spoke the language of duck food. And in that language, “bread soaked in milk” means LOVE. 🙂
With due respect to Aussie Bronwyn (who, I already know is an expert in all sorts of country matters), from your photos, Little One is definitely Daphne and not Donald. The male has unmistakable emerald green plumage down to the collar. Unless s/he is too young to “sport” them yet.
That aside, I couldn’t help notice that “geriatric roosters” and “aged sows” got their own links, but “stray humans” did not! Your heart is very much in the right place as far as I’m concerned. We’ll make a country boy of you yet!
Shock! Horror! How can anyone question the All Knowing Aussie Bronwyn?! 🙂
The theory is that Little One was too young to sport the emerald green head. But I’m interested to hear if anyone else thinks, based on these photos, that Little One was a girl instead of a boy.
We have a female Mallard who lives with us, completely voluntarily – she know which side her bread is buttered on. She now thinks she can’t fly and just walks everywhere, just like our Pekins
Oh, if you’re lucky she’ll never fly away!
You see, those of us who have been taken in and lovingly cared for by you, send out these vibes, rather like marking a big red X on your deck saying “stop here, good stuff”. When we leave, our goal is always to return. Be patient, he (Aussie Bronwyn knows all) will return. Me too! Bap-bap!
Bap-bap!
Hi Jared, I vote that the guest was a female Mallard. I have seen plenty of different ducks including Mallard hybrids. I am not a scientist or even a duck expert but I do have a feel for the ducks as I have lived on both a lake and a pond (and have a lot of ponds and lakes in the vicinity). Nice blog post! Have a wonderful day tomorrow!
Thanks Wildlife. I’d really like to see pics of a juvenile male and a female side by side to see the differences. I wonder if the they can really look the same. And as for Little One, I suppose s/he’s challenging our notions of gender and stopping us from putting everyone in a box. 🙂
What a great story 🙂
I would have thought a female Mallard also, but the young males do resemble females and that does seem to fit his actions.
Looks like the jury’s still out!
Aussie Bronwyn here—I have to admit that I didn’t have my glasses on when I saw the duck…….soooo…….just possibly may have been mistaken!!
Impossible. I find it very, very difficult to believe you’d ever make a mistake. Even without your glasses!
Jared,
I have only just found your blog and I have spent my whole morning reading it! This is my favorite story, I read it three times and sent it to my husband. Thank you so much for sharing, and congratulations on your book deal! My husband and I are actually moving to NZ this winter, and you can count on us to be looking up that olive oil! Keep up the good work, and cheers to you!
Mr and Mrs Mallard have just come to stay as the neighbour has diggers in and their usual pond is not private enough. They are friendly and will eat soaked bread from my hand. The cat doesn’t seem to mind them and vice versa. I found your blog when Googling “what to feed them..” They have a stream which is natural at one end, the other end has concrete sides..they seem to be hanging out at the later end. Commercial bread seems a bit wrong. Wondered about soaked whole grain….Hope they have babies soon : -)
How nice to have duck visitors! Since writing this post I found two pages on feeding ducks very helpful: ‘Is feeding ducks bread bad?‘ and ‘What to feed ducks‘. You may have already found that info, but if not I hope it helps. Lucky the cat doesn’t want to eat the ducks! And thanks for saying how you found my blog. It’s always interesting to learn. Best of luck with Mr and Mrs Mallard.