DUCK I (DISCOVERED)
Here's the plan today
I'm going to tell a tale in an expansive way
But before we start
I'm going to bow my head and fold my hands and pray:
“Grant I may share my narrative as well as I can relay an anecdote.
Help me spread my wings like a manta ray.
As Superman would say, 'Up, up, and away!'”
My friend teaches at a boarding school about an hour out of Santa Fe.
I went to see him there and on the final day of my campus stay
He suggested visiting the farm
To see the animals they had living in the barn
This guy Nate provided a guided tour.
He said, “These are our new chickens.”
I asked about the previous batch of birds.
He said, “There are these wild dogs living in the hills
And they raided the farm,
And every last feathered hen was
Massacred by those blasted curs
A bloodbath occurred.
It was nasty and brutish.”
We moved on to the next stall.
Nate pointed, and he said “That? Is Brutus.”
We looked. There was a duck.
He was sitting on the floor, dirt-packed and dusty.
Nate said, “He's the only survivor of the dog attack.”
Yup, miraculously, not a single hair on him was harmed.
(That's not the miracle; ducks don't have hair.)
But what this duck did have was balls:
A gigantic, iron-clad pair.
Nate said “He'll be dead soon though!”
I asked “Why?” The duck just sat there.
And Nate goes “Oh, we're gonna cook him and eat him.”
WHAT?!? How is that fair?
Fate had spared this lucky duck.
If he were human instead of a creature,
He'd become a national hero,
Or at least a motivational speaker,
Or a preacher, who believed fervently
The Eternal had called upon him to serve a holy purpose.
But all the duck was gonna be served was a l'orange.
Brutus: named for a traitor
Whose heart was impure and schemin', bruh.
But now HE was being betrayed by his human caretakers?
That's so ironic it could cure anemia.
I felt like screaming “UGH”
But then, I had a thought – kerpow!
A lightbulb flash, an idea:
“Nate,” I said, “could I sponsor this waterfowl?
Could I donate some dough in exchange
For you keeping and lodging and feeding the duck?”
Nate said he'd check with the farm director
But was certain that some agreement could be struck.
So on my way back to LA, I gave the situation some consideration
And decided to insist on makin' a deal with three stipulations.
One, Brutus could never be slaughtered.
He'd live in the barn till he died of old age.
Two, each week, they'd have to send me a photo
Of somebody holding a page
Of that day's paper up next to his face,
So I'd know that he hadn't been whacked.
And three - I can't resist closing on a pun -
They'd have to change his name to “Quack Sherwin.”
So I'm patting myself on the back, smirkin',
Thinking “How humanitarian of you.”
I even regaled a friend that I ran into
With all the details of all that I planned to do
But he e-mailed me the next day and he wrote, quote:
“I think that duck
Having to live until the end of its natural life
With no other ducks around is going to be rough.”
So I Googled it, and sure enough:
Ducks get dejected unless there's a friend.
Next step was to send a request
To protect and defend him from harm
To the farm director, Ben. I wrote:
“I hope I'm not too late,
But I want to save that duck at the farm
From becoming a meal.
Ideally I'd arrange to take it somewhere
Where it can live around water and other ducks.”
“Hi Zach - Thanks for your note.
I have called all of the farm sanctuaries in our area.
None of them will take a male duck
Because they are so aggressive
(the reason he was confined in the first place
was because he was beating up our chickens).
You are welcome to see if you can find someone
Willing to come and get him.....
We have fed him a long time,
And he has had a decent life with us (until recently).
We plan to slaughter him soon and eat him,
Unless other arrangements can be made shortly.
I had to move quick, be a swift arranger!
Brutus was in the grip of danger!
And don't be miffed or angered or flip the finger
But I'm stopping here on a cliffhanger.
To be continued.
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