Backyard Comedy: The Duck Who Thinks He Runs the Place

Proof that heaven on earth sometimes waddles at top speed!

Good morning everyone!

Thought I would tell you a little about the antics that occur on my property. A little bit of difference than my usual posts. But you see I have ducks, chickens, a dog and a cat. They always bring a smile to my face. And maybe a chuckle or two.

There are 13 chickens and two roosters. Do you really want to know why? I know you do. You see, a while back the older chickens had been eating their own eggs and weren’t producing as many. So we decided we would make plans for a stew or two. Maybe chicken & dumplings. We would invite a chicken or two to come for dinner. Hint! Hint! Anyway, we purchased new chickens so that we could continue to have fresh eggs.

Just to let you know… they haven’t actually been invited. And to be truthful, I doubt they ever will. lol.
Sounds like us – all talk, no follow‑through. The old ladies are safe, strutting around like they own the place, completely unaware they were ever on the “menu.”

Anyways, the chickens are all safe for the moment. But on the other hand. Let’s talk ducks.

Man! Can I tell you about them? We ONLY have two male ducks! Horacio and what I would call a young teenage male duck who is so funny. Horacio is the only winged animal that has a name. You see he is handicapped. His waddle is off. But he has managed to stay alive when most others don’t.

Wolves…Or foxes… or other vermin. Their dinner plate. You get the idea.

There used to be female ducks, but apparently they’re either tastier or the males aren’t doing their job. You tell me. What’s your verdict? We probably ought to name the teenage one!

Anyways, the young one is coming of age. He doesn’t have a girlfriend, which I imagine is kind of traumatic for a duck. So he waddles around the yard like he has something to prove. I’m not sure what he’s trying to prove, but that’s exactly what makes him so funny.

We keep the ducks pinned up at night to keep them alive which is truly a full‑time job. We’ve got the gate, and now we’ve added a square tomato cage over it for additional security. But, hey! We have to protect our two male ducks. They’re priceless. Practically royalty.

Every morning, we release them and they immediately ditch us for the neighbor’s pond. Apparently our pond is beneath them. My guess is too many turtles, although we do have fish. Her pond is clear, pristine, and apparently “duck‑approved.”

After their spa day, they waddle back home. Horacio does his best to keep up, but that teenage duck comes barreling into the yard as if he has been gone for weeks. The chickens scatter, and he struts right through the middle of them like he owns the place.

So when I’m working from home, I head out a couple times a day to pick up eggs. And here comes this dang duck, running across the yard chasing anything that has two or four legs. Yes, the dog too. Everything runs from him.

Except me.

I do the opposite. I mess with him a little. But then again, I mess with all the animals, not just the dog. He’ll come barreling toward me like he’s the boss of the whole property, and I just stand there, watching him try to figure out why his intimidation tactics don’t work on me. It’s our little game, and honestly, it makes the whole routine a lot more fun.

So here I am, a few eggs in my hands, heading back to the house. And here comes that dang duck – running, or should I say waddling at top speed – straight toward me like Barney Fife chasing a bandit down a country road.

I stop. He stops.

I step forward. He steps forward.

Then I turn around, and what does that duck do? He freezes and turns his head like he’s profiling an accomplice in some detective show. He’s dramatic, I’ll give him that.

So I turn completely around and run right at him. Suddenly, all that boldness disappears. He races toward the fig tree and starts circling the mint bed, going round and round as if we’re playing ring-around-the-rosy and I’m some ferocious monster chasing him.

Then I turn back toward the house, and here he comes again, trying to catch me before I can step onto the porch as if the porch is my “base” and he’s determined to tag me out. I’m convinced that if there weren’t steps, he’d waddle his way right into the house. This goes on all the time – me with eggs in my hands, him barreling toward me like he’s trying to win some imaginary competition.

So this is my life on our little piece of heaven. What is heaven on earth like for you? I wish you could just see all the antics that occur on this sweet property.