At one time, I had a large flock of white Muscovy ducks. The hens liked to hide their nests out like the chickens. As soon as the ducklings showed up with the mothers, I'd take the babies away. Some of the hen ducks had three hatchings in a summer. I raised the ducklings, butchered and sold them.
The duck in question arrived after a light skiff of snow in the night. The duck flock always came running when they saw me in the barn yard to eat the corn I scattered on the ground. To my surprise that morning, a wild mallard duck was in the middle of the flock competing for the grain with loud quacks that said, “Move over. I'm hungry.” The Muscovy ducks tolerated the noisy intruder with hisses gasps. They can't quack.
The wild duck didn't seem to mind my presence. I noted band on one leg which might have explained his calmness. Conservation somewhere had raised him and turned him loose, banded so they could track him. This duck was a curiosity to me so I watched him for awhile. Why was he there? When I carried a bale of hay out to the pasture to scatter the sheep, I found duck tracks in the light snow all around the brush pile. A flock had spent the night in the sticks for shelter during the storm. Why did the mallard stay behind when the others left? Did they waddle quietly away before daylight to keep from waking him? Did the other ducks think the rest of the trip would be more pleasant without this odd duck getting on their nerves. He did talk an awful lot. That earned him the name Mr. Quacker. It did seem strange he'd over sleep and missed the departure time. As soon as he rested and filled up with corn, I was sure he'd continue the migration and catch up with the other ducks.
Soon winter was upon us. The mallard was still with my flock. I couldn't blame him. The flight from north to south is long and arduous in the company of others. Maybe he didn't care to go by himself.
By spring, Mr. Quacker was just one of the flock. Of course, his green head and brown body stood out like a sore thumb in the white flock. Yet he seemed content. That spring we acquired 6 rouen ducks, four hens and two males, that look like mallards except they are bigger. When we turned them loose, they quacked excitedly about their new surroundings. The muscovy ducks stretched their necks and stared at the strangers, wondering if they should run. Mr. Quacker quacked back to them and waddled to greet the rouens. At last, someone who spoke his language.
Turns out Mr. Quacker was quite an arduous lover. He took up with all four hens much to the dislike of the two drakes. It was fun to watch the smaller mallard following along so proudly behind the large brown hen ducks. One morning, he completely surprised me by flapping his wings profusely and taking off so close over the top of my head that I ducked. Pardon the pun. Mr. Quacker glided in a circle around the barn yard and landed back in the middle of the rouens. That caused quite a stir among the hens. I couldn't figure out if Mr. Quacker was trying to show off for his girlfriends or boost to the two drakes that he could do something they couldn't. The girlfriends were excited. The drakes not so much. I'd often wondered if Mr. Quacker had a balance problem. He hadn't flown before where I could see him. Maybe now he thought he could convince the girls to go north with him. He didn't know they couldn't fly. When Mr. Quacker figured that out, he didn't try flying again.
That fall, I heard the first faint quacks from the north. The ducks froze as they listened. I just knew this would be the time Mr. Quacker would leave with his own kind. Soon the ducks were visible over us, low and loud. My ducks took off in a dead run for the cover of the open shed. They hid under the tractor and manure spreader. Mr. Quacker was hunkered down in the middle of the flock. Guess he didn't hear any familiar family voices, and he wasn't about to leave with a bunch of strangers. Why should he when he had it made? He was well fed, had shelter when he needed it and four girlfriends to keep company with.
So for three years we had Mr. Quacker to entertain us. Spring rolled around again, and one day, the flock was eating grain when I noticed Mr. Quacker wasn't with them. He hadn't failed to carrying a conversation when he was around, much of which was ignored by the others after they got used to him. At first, I dreaded that he might have been supper for a fox or raccoon during the night. A quick search for his remains turned up nothing. My hope is that finally Mr. Quacker decided he'd had enough of being domestic. He wanted to give his wild side a try. The rouen hens gave voice to being disturbed by his absence for a few days as if they could call him back to them. The two drakes were quiet. In fact, I thought they looked duck-gone happy to have the girls all to themselves again.
As with much I write about the rural stories, Mr. Quacker's visit is where I came up with the story for the ducks hatched under Emma's hen in The Rainbow's End, book 2 in the Nurse Hal Among The Amish series. Emma takes caring for her chickens very seriously, and she isn't amused by her brothers practical jokes.
Emma toted her filled bucket carefully as they walked by a wooden coop beside the chicken house. A long, burst of clucking came from inside.
“What is going on in there?” Hal wanted to know.
“That is a setting hen. She must of hatched. Hear her talking to her babies?” Emma opened the door. She hunkered down and looked in. “I see a little yellow head sticking out from under her wing.”
“That is good,” Hal said.
“Ach! Oh, nah. It can not be,” Emma moaned.
“It isn’t good?” Hal asked bewildered.
Emma clutched her apron in her hands and gave Hal the most disconcerting look. “We can let the hen out so you can see for yourself. She might as well go to the chicken house tonight. Stand back.”
“Didn’t the hen have a good hatch?”
“When the hen and chicks come out, you will see for yourself. Help me count to see how gute her hatch was,” said Emma, sarcastically.
The hen slinked to the door and peeked out. She looked back at her babies, clucking all the while. When she saw Hal and Emma, she bristled up, warning them to stand back, before she stepped into the grass. Twisting around she called her chicks to come to her. The chicks darted out and zoomed under her. The hen wasn’t about to stay that close to the coop now that she had her freedom. She walked off the chicks, clucking to them to follow her and keep up. Peeping in protest, they scrambled along on shaky, newborn legs.
Pointing her finger at each to keep track, Hal counted seven chicks covered with reddish fuzz mingled with yellow. The top of their head had a dark brown stripe that ran down their backs. They reminded Hal of baby quail. Four others were larger, covered in downy, yellow fuzz. They had large, orange web feet and flat, wide, yellow bills.
Emma stared at the brood, shaking her head in disbelief.
Hal said, “I count eleven.” She pointed at one of the yellow babies. “Why are some of the chicks so much different looking from the others?”
“They are not chickens. They are ducks,” Emma said tersely.
“That can’t be. A chicken can’t have baby ducks. It’s not possible,” Hal protested.
“Oh, it is very possible if duck eggs were put under my hen.”
“Did you do that?”
“Nah, but I am going to ask my brothers if they know who did,” Emma responded brusquely. She hustled to the house, set the egg basket on the table and headed out the front door to the barn. Still in his rocker, John looked up in surprise as Emma flashed by. He gave Hal a questioning look, but she just shrugged her shoulders. How would she know what had the girl so upset. Her intention was to trail along behind and find out. This afternoon had been bad enough for her. Now it didn’t seem to be going well for Emma.
The only consultation Hal had was whatever was wrong with Emma wasn’t her fault. “Emma, what’s so wrong with hatching ducks?”
The girl turned around. “They are bigger and stronger than my chicks. The ducks will crowd out the chicks when they need the mother’s warmth. If the chicks survive that, the baby ducks will steal all the little chicks food because they grow so fast. Grown ducks are nasty. They will murk up the chicken’s water. The yard will be full of nasty piles of poop.”
The screen door banged shut. John came down the steps with his hands in his pockets. “How do you know the boys are guilty of such mischief?”
“The ducks are wild mallards. Easy to find eggs in nests around the pond,” said Emma hotly.
As he stepped around Emma, John mumbled, “I had lost track of time, reading my bible. Generator’s going. The boys started milking already. I need to help.” He opened the barn door and stepped in.
Looking one way than the other in the barnyard, Emma called, “Here Zacchaeus.”
No rooster in sight. Not even a hen. The flock had gathered around the chicken house, ready to roost.
“He’s not here, either. I’ll ask my brothers if they have seen him.” Emma waited for her father to clear the barn door. She stepped inside. “Have either of you seen my pet rooster today?”
Staying put outside seemed like a safe idea to Hal. She peeked past Emma. Noah was letting in a round of cows. Daniel was behind the stanchions, putting feed in the troughs. The boys yelled a loud no in unison, raising their voices over the generator motor.
Emma snapped, “You both say no so easily. Now answer this question for me. Do you know anything about my brood hen hatching ducklings?”
His eyes intense, John leaned on a scoop shovel handle, watching his children. Noah looked at Daniel. They shrugged their shoulders and gave their father an innocent look. Noah bent down to attach the milking cups to a cow. Daniel flew by Emma and opened the feed room door to get a bucket of pig feed. He rushed back by his sister to feed the cows.
“My sons should own up to a practical joke,” said John evenly.
Daniel’s scoop stopped on the way to the feed bucket.
Noah rose up, placed his hand on the bony flank of the cow and turned to his father. “Jah. We put the duck eggs under the hen. Emma, I am sorry we did that.”
John prompted, “Daniel, do you have something to say?”
Daniel emptied the scoop into a trough. “Jah, Daed. Emma, I am sorry we upset you.”
“All right. I should be fixing supper. You, my brothers need to finish your chores. We can finish this subject later.” She turned to Hal. “One of these days, I will show you Zacchaeus after I figure out where my brothers have him hid.”
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