Another Murderer in the Family (A Duck Dynasty)
The same day I posted about murdering my sister, my dog Scooby went on his own murder spree. Let me set the scene:
Lovely sunny day.
An unsuspecting mother duck nurtures her 8 adorable little ducklings in a safe spot between two fences.
A clueless dog mum (that’s me) lets her fur baby out the back door to enjoy his natural habitat and poop.
Fur baby races to his squirrel tree. He is a hearding dog so he heards them all up this giant maple and checks to make sure they are still there. Often he runs past a squirrel in his attempt to get there fast enough. Hysterical to watch.
Clueless dog mum goes about her business in the house (surfs facebook).
Clueless mum hears dog barking, which is strange. She hears tires screaching. Strange. She hears voices and sees people in her front yard. Super strange.
Facebook click bait distracts her and all is well.
So here is where the story takes a dark turn. Turns out, just as all the kiddies are walking home from school,
said murderer Scooby disturbs a mother duck. The duck had set up her baby making shop just on the other side of the squirrel tree. She got spooked by something white and hairy with a loud bark. Mother duck, apparently, began flying around in a fit of anxious rage and starts squawking, flapping and carrying on. It is at this point she makes her way into traffic and – RIP mother duck.
As the kiddies are crying, the lady who hit the duck is pulled over traumatized. It was then that the 8 little ducklings previously protected in their nest by their, now dead, mother come to investigate. The fluff balls make it onto the road to check out the carnage and then freak out and run in opposite directions. Scratch that. 7 of them run under the car that killed their mother. One duckling disappears. As the concerned mothers of screaming school children try and get the 7 little ducklings to get out from under the car and animal protection is called, I was laughing at mis-spelled tattoos. That is my favourite click bait.
There is a knock on the door.
Seems duckling number 8 ran into our yard.
Now Scooby has had a history of playing with small dead animals. The look on my face must have been one of abject horror because the stranger standing there with her crying child looked taken aback. ‘Could they look in our yard?’, they asked. SHIT. ‘Of course you can!’ I retort. ‘Let me first make sure my dog isn’t
chewing on the little duckling in the backyard.’
They could not find the little duckling. They returned moments later to scour our front and back yards. We were in the backyard listening/helping the search party and keeping the dog away from the perimeter. Then I heard a scream.
I crossed myself in the catholic way and then stink-eyed the dog knowing that he had a mother duck on his murder list as well as a duckling. Bad dog!
But is was not to be a second murder. They found the little guy. He was hiding amongst the nesting material and was scared. They rescued him, returned him to his orphan brothers and sisters and then we stopped looking for feathers in the dog’s teeth.
We eat our dinner in peace. Duck à l’orange anyone? (OK, it was burgers, but is that as much fun?)