Thursday, August 23, 2012

Dawn Of The Ducks

  Good morning! If you’re reading these words, then I’m probably OK for now. But if I disappear for more than a day, you’ll know it’s happened. If I go silent then you’ll know the birds have me, so please…send HELP! (Help with nets and BIG guns!)

The original trio of doom.
  I stupidly came by my first *Muscovies ducks by accident and the fact that they were so darned pathetic lured me into ignoring my gut instinct to run. So I took them home to my happy, warm coop and ample food supply.

  They hated me on sight and it went downhill from there.

  Since it was a trio of girls, I was a big enough idiot to hunt down a male, erroneously believing it would make the evil bitches happy. As it turned out, I was dead WRONG.

  It went downhill FAST from there.

Don’t be fooled, they’re cute now
but they’ll grow up and begin
plotting your downfall!
  Then the problems commenced for real. After all, what do evil, vile, un-tamable Muscovies do when not carefully watched? RE-PRO-DUCE! Living in the country as we do, there are FAR too many places for these vessels of Armageddon to hide and hatch more demon-spawns. I am now officially over-run with winged agents of destruction and insanity. *sigh*

  In years past, I’d send all the guys to “freezer camp” since they really are tasty and much less fatty than normal, anti-psychotic ducks. Plus? The boys have been known to fight to the death, so weeding them out was a necessity. (I’m now convinced these stories are told to the young around the pool, fueling their hatred of humans and cementing their desire to rule us all! Screw Planet of the Apes, it’s gonna be Dawn of the Ducks!)

  These days, I’m too darned tired and gimp-a-fied to chase them down and “do the deed.” As a result, they are everywhere and doing their best to suck what little sanity I have left, along with my will to live, right outta my soul!

  You see, I know they’re actually planning an Animal Farm scenario. One night I’ll go to sleep, happy and warmly snuggled in my bed only to wake up bound and gagged in the chicken coop. (As a matter of fact, I just looked out the window by my desk and there are three on the carport roof, watching me. They know I’m ratting them out, so they’re probably gonna move quicker now…*gulp*)

  They repeatedly lure me and the offspring out of the house all throughout the day by pretending they’re interested in whatever yummy goodness resides in a road-side ditch. (Seriously! We’re surrounded by fertile forest and they opt for a DITCH! How, I ask you, can it NOT be a trap?) Personally, I believe they are training us. One afternoon, we’ll emerge to check the ditch and the little buggers are gonna drop a net and drag us off into the underbrush.

It’s GOTTA be a trap. After all, if you were a duck,
where would you rather hang out?

  As I’ve typed, more have masses outside the window. I’m becoming nervous since there’s only a thin screen between me and a ducky-inflicted death.

  Please, tell my kids I love them…*falls out of chair laughing like the insomnia-and-too-much-coffee idiot she is*
  *Muscovy Primer:

  The females of the species are approximately 30% smaller than the males. (Girls, about seven pounds while the boys weigh in around 15.) The she-bitches are capable of making annoying, squeaking sounds to express their displeasure with life, the universe, and all that is good and beautiful in the world. They hatch babies like it’s their damn day-job and will viciously attack on sight.

Some of the younger ducks.
I’m sure they were plotting.
Just look at the smug air of
derision on their faces!
  The males are only capable of this twisted hissing sound, making their from-behind-attack approach much less noticeable. Like 17 year old human males, they think of only three things; females, eating, and fighting. They really aren’t that bright.

  Both genders have full flight capabilities, turning them into death-from-above. Or the bane of your angry-neighbor-with-a-pond’s existence. They are indigenous to Brazil where they nest in trees. Because of their tree-dwelling habits, both sexes also possess claws of shredded-death! And trust me on this, they KNOW how to use them on each other and unsuspecting humans.

Baby Huey, our original male,
boldly models his striking mullet
and baboon-arse-looking caruncles.
(I left the red-eye since it
accentuated his inner evil.)
  The most noticeable feature (besides the claws of pain) is the fleshy growths on their faces called caruncles. They are larger in the males and, just like a human’s nose, get bigger with age. By the time they’re five years old, it looks like they’ve got a wrinkled baboon’s arse on their face. Oh yeah, both of them also have these funky little crests, although it turns into more of a mullet in the males.

  What are these guys good for? AVOIDING! (Although they really are GREAT bug control and better mousers than my cats. REALLY!)