Duck Soup

In the woods by the McDerly’s farm, ducks and other waterfowl hid themselves from view in the pond’s reeds. They pruned themselves of the molting feathers that collected on their bodies in wads like glue. The birds did this in the early morning before straying into the openness of the pond to fish for sustenance. A great number of waterfowl reared their ducklings in the reed circle which grew in the center of the pond, except for one family that was banned to the far outskirts. The home of Deidra Moorhen resided in an almost separate part of the pond, beyond the bombardment of white lilies. She raised her five ducklings in a secluded patch of reeds far from the fishing region of the pond. Ruffling her feathers and flapping her wings, Deidra swung her red bill back and forth, squawking at her ducklings to hurry with their morning wash. “Please my young ducklings. Hurry yourselves in your wash. The Mallard, himself, is to escort us to the pond any minute now.”

It was another chance to find a mate, thought Deidra to herself. The father to her kin vanished one winter and did not return. It was suspected by the community that he had been stuffed and mounted after being gunned down by a traveling huntsman in the woods. Deidra hatched several ducklings with her late husband, except for one who mysteriously wandered into the family.

“Duncan! You nest brain.” honked Deidra in disgust. “Your posture is all wrong. The head should be aligned with the spine, and both feet firmly planted on the ground. Like so…” stomped Deidra menacingly. Duncan wobbled to his webbed feet and slapped his beaver tail on the ground in order to keep his balance. He quickly fell forwards, launching his duck bill into the mud. With a cry of hopelessness, Deidra turned to tend to her other ducklings “Oh Dunkan! Why couldn’t you have looked like your brothers? Don’t forget to tuck your ugly tail away. The Mallard only flew into our community a couple weeks ago. He does not know yet of your abnormality like the rest of the coots in the pond do and I’d rather he not ever discover it.”

“Yes mama,” replied Duncan who without hesitation began tucking his tail between his legs. It wouldn’t stay hidden though, so he reverted to his four legs and crawled to the edge of the reeds where he couldn’t be seen.

“Hello! Ms. Moorhen?” Yelled the Mallard in question as feathers flew into the air behind the reeds.

Deidra called back to the Mallard “Just a moment Reverend Mallard. And call me Deidra from now on. We have known each other for awhile, haven’t we?”

The Mallard quacked with a chuckle to himself as he straightened the white collar of feathers around his neck “Yes, Deidra. We have known each other for a time.”
Sun light glittered across the reeds, into the pond where the Mallard sat floating on the surface. He wondered what could be taking Deidra so long. Perhaps she needed help with something. It took no more than one step into the reeds for Duncan to be uncovered. “Huh!” Reverend Mallard was speechless at the site of the atrocity. “Demon, I say. Stay away. Glory of duck, it’s a real life demon.”

“Mallard, wait. Don’t leave.” Squealed Deidra Moorhen with fright, but the Mallard had already shed his feathers as he took flight into the air. “Please Mallard! Understand, he is slightly deformed, but we are hoping it’s just a phase with him.” No longer could the Mallard be seen. Duncan paddled his way into the nest.

“Duncan! Why did you scare him off?” Deidra pecked at Duncan and flapped her wings ferociously “Let that be a lesson to you.”

In a single file, the family of six paddled through the white lilies into the main part of the pond to catch fish. The three geese who sat beside the lilies blew their horns at Duncan who followed in line behind his brothers. It appeared that no one liked the Moorhen family. The ducklings who lived in the reed circle were not allowed to play with the Moorhens; afraid that the abnormality was a disease that could spread. At last, Deidra had reached the brook at the end of the pond where she knew fish swam in shallow waters. A stranger stood above the brook that crackled as rocks slid down it into the pond.

“Hello there, madam duck. You look very plucky this morning.”

“Hello?” said Deidra with curiosity in her voice. “Who might you be?”

“Who am I?” shouted the fox in astonishment. “My name is Jerome my good Moorhen. Surely you have heard of me.”

Deidra explained to the fox that the community she lived in was isolated. The waterfowl she lived with had lived in the pond’s reeds for ages.

“What do you think of my fur?” yipped Jerome, pondering to himself whether Deidra was telling the truth.

“I think it is a lovely red. Where do you live?” asked Deidra. “Do you live far from here?”

“I do live a ways down the brook madam. If I might find some place to sleep for the night, I’d be deeply grateful.”
“Mama, I would not trust this strange beast if I were you,” Advised Duncan, who was quickly grabbed at the bill by his five brothers.

“He is no stranger than you, Duncan,” squawked Deidra, giving him glare. “Actually, I consider Jerome to be very charming.”

Jerome grinned a sharp grin full of fangs “Do go on madam Moorhen.”

Seeing that Jerome did not seem afraid of her hideous son, she proposed for the fox to move in with her family for as long as he would like, “and please, call me Deidra.”

The fox insisted he court Deidra, so he stepped into the pond; the water rushed up to meet his chest. With one paw, he held Deidra by the wing and waltzed her around the pond. The pond was in an uproar over Deidra’s newly found mate.

Jerome curled up in the reeds that night with Deidra and the ducklings in mind. On a rock, Duncan slept. He knew that somehow Jerome was dangerous, for those sharp teeth were meant to be used for something more than gathering fish.

The next day, the reeds were empty where Jerome was to have slept. “Where is he?” thought Deidra. Before Duncan could jump to conclusions, Jerome could be seen rustling through the white lilies.

“Good news, my dear Moorhen. Lord Widgeon has invited us to his quackery ball.”
The ducklings poked their heads out from beneath Deidra’s warm feathered breasts. “I thought that was an invitation-only party.”

“It seems that it was an invitation-only party intending for you not to go. Don’t worry though. I’ve changed all of that for you. I suggested to his Lordship for the quackery ball to be moved to the pond at the other end of the brook.” The ducklings flapped their wings wildly while Deidra ran up and hugged the fox. He sniffed her feathers and snarled a grin.

Lord Widgeon held a quackery ball every twenty suns. During the highest point of the sun, all the waterfowl that lived at the pond would assemble in its water quacking and squawking their songs of happiness and dine on fish tell nightfall.

“It appears to be that time Deidra, my feathery love,” said Jerome as the sun climbed into the highest peak of the sky.

“Quite right. Come my ducklings. We must be at the quackery ball before he sun reaches its peak in the sky.”

Jerome led the family away from their home in the reeds and passed the white lilies. “Wait! Where is Duncan?” She looked to her ducklings who nodded their heads towards one another in bewilderment.

The fox looked back at Deidra Moorhen and told her to not worry; her son would be there.

“I just know he is going to embarrass me as usual,” Her eyes were slits as she squinted, looking to either bank of the pond “My mind would be so much more at ease if I only knew where that duck was.”

It was a strenuous distance for the ducks to waddle. The pond at the end of the brook took an hour or more to travel on webbed feet. At the waters edge, the flock of waterfowl waited for the Lordship to take the first step into the pond. The pond boiled with warmth. Steam paddled from its surface like smoke. Licking his sharp teeth with joy, Jerome patted himself on the back for thinking of such a clever idea. “What a fiendish cook I am as to make roast duck in such a way that I do not have to lift a finger to prepare it,” thought Jerome to himself.

Deidra Moorhen heard the fox mumbling something under his breath “Just think of the feast, Jerome. There is a great bounty of fish to be had in the bottom of the pond.”

“Yes, a great feast indeed,”

Lord Widgeon quacked a lengthy speech of how wonderful it was for every duck to be there that day. He thanked Jerome for finding such an exquisite location for their quackery ball and all the ducks flapped their wings in agreement. The smell of ducks feathers curled the tips of the fox’s muzzle which all the waterfowl mistook for a smile of appreciation. Jerome’s mind watered with the images of the duck soup he was soon to ingest. “Without further to do my fellow ganders, geese, and ducks, I shall proceed with the quackery ball by having the first swim in this pond.” He waddled to the edge of some unlevel earth. His webbed foot hovered over the steaming waters as he stretched it over the pond, wiggling his toes.

Before his foot could touch the surface, a voice called out from the audience “Don’t do it, Lordship. It’s a trick,” From no where clear enough for Jerome to see, Duncan leaped into the air and smacked the fox with his flat tail. He tore fur from Jerome’s body with his bill, and pecked the fox until he begged for the pain to stop. Howling in pain, Jerome ran back to his den in the woods.

Deidra Moorhen was furious at Duncan once more. She pinched the duckling on the ear and had the other waterfowl circle him.

“What is it, mama,” asked Duncan who seemed very confused “I saved you from being eaten by that hungry fox.”

“Stop it,” squawked Deidra with fire in her voice. “Just stop it. This is the last time you chase one of my potential mates into the woods. I am not even your real mother. I adopted you into my family thinking you were some horribly disfigured duck. I should have left you in the woods where you were abandoned. Whoever your mother is, she must have known you were trouble the day you hatched.” The horde of waterfowl moved in towards Duncan. The circle grew smaller as the ducks snapped at Duncan with their yellow bills. Dirt and feathers covered the attack. It was only by luck that Duncan crept away from the quaking rage of ducks.

Feeling that it was time to leave, Duncan waddled on his four webbed feet in the direction of McDerly’s Farm. He passed by fallen trees and different types of plants that were not native to the pond where he had grown. “If that was not my mama, than where is she?” thought Duncan. He felt sorry for not being able to save Deidra and the others from their untimely death. Thoughts of his fake-mother and the other waterfowl being cooked in the boiling water turned his stomach. The awful fox would cook them in the water and eat them.

When all seemed hopeless, Duncan could see a small building outside of the forest. It had a wire fence around it and a draw bridge at its doors. Duncan thought it was a very fancy looking place and decided to take a look around. The wire fence enclosed over the house like a cage. Perhaps it was a cage. At the time, Duncan didn’t know what he was to do for he stood face to face with a wolf whose drool sparkled as it hit the ground.

“Not another fox. I am too tired to put up a fight. I just hope his mouth is able to fit all of me in one bite. It may be less painless that way,” so Duncan curled into a ball, trying to make himself small enough for the wolf to eat.

The wolf took one look at Duncan and wrinkled his nose “If these are the kind of chickens they are raising around here, I’d hate to know what it would do to my stomach. Whatever these chickens have, I sure don’t want to be infected by it.” Turning his tail to the odd looking chicken, who was once thought of to be a disfigured goose, he took off into the woods.

“Am I that ugly that not even a wolf would want to end my life,” Duncan was so upset, he started to cry.

As he cried, numerous feathered birds, ranging from colors of yellow to brown, wandered out of the house netted in wire. They saw that the danger was gone and clucked happiness to their courageous hero. There language was foreign to Duncan; It was filled with clucks and cackles. He did not need to know their language, for he knew by the pats on his back that they were not scared.

The farmer’s wife looked out the window to check on the chicken coop and saw a curious looking figure. Her eyes darted to Mr. McDerly “Phillip, there is something out there messing with our chickens. Get the guns.”