Mindy Hammond
He attacked love rivals and harassed females, but for all his strutting machismo Sid had one glaring failing as a duck – he couldn’t swim
When her Lothario drake gets too amorous, our columnist gets into a flap...
It’s nobody’s business what goes on behind a duck’s closed doors, and although our duck population had been severely depleted after the last mink attack, keeping the remaining five ducks and two drakes safe from intruders was only part of the problem. Separating the two drakes so they didn’t fight to the death over the ladies became a nightmare, and even when Eyebrow was confined to solitary, matters didn’t improve for the females. The poor ladies were attacked in a most ungentlemanly manner – some lost most of their neck feathers from “love bites” and two developed a limp after being leapt on by “hissing Sid”. He was clearly a beast in the bedroom.
Then my friend Sarah told me about her mother’s love of ducks. Her collection had dwindled until she was left with only scrapping drakes, so she had rehomed most of them, leaving her with a lone, lovesick runner duck. We hatched a plan. Early one morning we released our Lothario drake and captured his harem while he wasn’t looking, setting them free a few miles down the road in duck heaven – with Sarah’s mother on a farm with a stream-fed pond, where a dashingly aristocratic runner duck awaited their arrival.
They practically whooped for joy. Life couldn’t get much better for the long-suffering ladies, but while they were settling in Sarah and I turned our attention to the dastardly drake pacing his pen while shooting daggers at Eyebrow, even though poor old Eyebrow had nothing to do with the missing ladies. He was busy trying to flirt with the dirty turkeys.
“Ugh, look at him hissing. What’s wrong?”i despaired. “Why don’t you put him on the big pond?” Sarah asked.
“Well, last time I tried that with the Muscovies they all
walked back to chicken Woods and I spent half a day herding them around the place.”
“Yes but he is just one duck. It’s worth a go.” I agreed and after a battle we managed to get an angry, flapping duck into a dog crate. He was livid, attacking our fingers with his talons as we hauled the crate into the back of the truck, and going berserk on the short drive from chicken Woods to the pond.
once unloaded, we opened the crate door and tipped up the end to encourage Sid to walk out on to the jetty. He seemed pleasantly surprised, launching himself on to the widest expanse of water he’d ever seen. Then promptly forgot how to swim. We watched in horror as he flapped furiously and paddled in panic, propelling himself forward with his wings instead of his enormous webbed feet as he scrabbled over to the shallow water. What a wally! And, frankly, what a worry...
If he couldn’t swim he wouldn’t be safe from the fox, and his new freedom would be short lived. We left him to gather himself after his first foray into the unknown while I considered recapturing him. But a few hours later he had moved from the bank and was sitting on the jetty. Had he swum or had he waddled? I couldn’t tell but the fool stood, completely unnerved, as captain sauntered over to inspect what must have appeared to be a black-and-white blob to his Mr Magoo eyes. That stupid duck peered up at me as I grabbed captain before he ended up doggy paddling for his life, then slid sideways off the edge of the jetty to perform a duck belly flop.
oh dear. dusk was falling, and he was in the reeds, so I prayed he would survive his first night in the great outdoors
The next morning there was no sign of him and I felt terrible. He may have been a sex pest but he didn’t deserve to end up as a fox’s dinner. Then I saw a flash of white in the floating duck house in the centre of the big pond. It was Sid. He’d managed to swim all the way over there and set up home. What a great result. Until I looked at the size of the doorway compared to the size of the duck. However he’d managed to get in, after a few days I began to worry he couldn’t get out.
I might not love him, but I couldn’t leave him to starve in a floating coffin. I’d have to pull up the weighted chain attached to the bottom of the house with my shepherd’s crook, tow duck and house to the shore and lift the roof off to free him.
I had spent ages gathering equipment, and was wading in with the rowing boat when who should wander towards me, pecking at the grass? Hissing flipping Sid. I’ve never disliked a duck so much.