Bucky's Ducky...Gee I'm Lucky!

Well, it's official. I have now published my 100th rant. For about a month now, I've been staring at that number 99 on my profile and trying to decide how to commemorate the occasion. I have celebrated the 100th hub with many fellow hubbers. Some chose to go MTV New Year's Eve style with a recap of their Greatest Hits. I decided to do what I know best. Rant about the latest goings on in my life.

Those who know me personally know I'm not really a pet person. I'm scared of dogs and horses, I tolerate my Diva cat, and I despise anything from the rodent family. Don't you remember the mousethat was in my house? So it may come as a small suprise to you to discover that I recently became the owner of a pet duck.

Yes, I said duck.

I'm upstairs changing out of work clothes one day, when my husband comes into our room and says, "You need to get down here and see this." As any mother can tell you, that phrase is rarely a good thing. So I warily trod downstairs to see what's up.

There, on my kitchen table, sat a baby duck. (Yeah, the table. Where we eat our food!) And yeah, a duck. Like daffy, donald, etc. My daughters and hubby are crowded around the table ooohing and ahhhing like chics at a baby shower. (Pardon the pun). You'd think they'd never been to a farm before. Or the fair. Or seen a baby anything!

I must have had my famous WTF chuck look on my face, because my niece then pipes up, "I brought you a duck!" with a look that said, "Please don't beat me!" Immediately my 12 year old starts begging, "Can we keep it mom, please, please, please, please, please!!!" Because that's not annoying or anything, and gee I sure love a good nagging.

I look over at my husband, knowing full well that he will give me the strong parental unit, team member support that makes us great. He will have my back. We've got this duck situation covered baby.

"Isn't it cute?" he says.

Crap.

So that's how I ended up with a duck. My niece brought the 12 hour old baby from her grandparents' farm, I guess figuring that it's easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission. And apparently she had her uncle pegged because the duck stayed.

Now my non pet loving, clean house liking, responsible city dwelling self was asking questions like "What the heck are we gonna do with a duck?" "You know it's gonna get bigger, right?" "How are we going to keep the cat from killing it?" And the most important question of all, "Where will it poop?"

Apparently, my children and husband were unresponsive to these rational questions, being under the spell of ducktonyte and all. And I will admit that a barely one day old duck is really frickin cute......but again....where will it poop? The lil charmer soon answered the question of the hour by dropping an adorable little duck bomb right on my table. Yes....the one we eat food on. It was a very small, pellet like dropping, so I thought, well, maybe this won't be so bad. At this point, it was obvious I had already lost this battle, and if there's anything I have learned from being a mom, it's to pick your battles.

Let me tell you a few things I've learned about ducks.

• They grow to their full potential within 45 days. I thought my niece was full o crap when she told me this. She was, indeed, not.
• Those harmless little pellets turn into full on sloppy, gooey, slimy gross poop in about a week. They also increase exponentially in frequency.
• My cat does, in fact, want to kill the duck.

So after having the "You will have to be responsible and do all the feeding, cleaning, playing, etc" speech that all parents give to their kids upon bestowing a pet upon them, we got the little thing settled in his home (a fish tank with no lid, soft bedding and it's own little food and water dish, which it promptly fell into and sloshed all over said soft bedding). At about 11:00 on that first night, my husband and I can hear the insistent "peep, peep, peep, peep" coming through the vents. My daughter calls me on her cell phone, because apparently that flight of stairs separating us is just too much to handle as a new duck owner, and says, "Mom, he won't stop chirping! Every time I turn off the light, he freaks out. How am I going to get any sleep?" I said what any good, caring mother would say. "Welcome to life with a newborn" and promptly hung up the phone.

On day 2 of Life With a Duck, the duck died. So. Not. Kidding. If there is anything worse than trying to dry the tears of your offspring who has experienced the death of a pet, I'm not sure what it is. I found myself overcome with relief, and then with guilt for being relieved. She, of course, immediately asked for another. To which my husband aptly replied, "I can't tell her no." (Hmm, wrapped around a finger much?)

So duck #2 (named Turbo) came to live with us. Duck #1 (named Wilber) was buried under the Rhubarb plant and life went on. That weekend, we went camping. I apparently was not aware that the duck would be coming with us. I always thought ducks were capable of living indepently outside without the assistance of humans. However my husband and daughters promptly showed me the folly of my thinking and the duck was packed with the camping gear. Here are a few things I learned about camping with a duck:

• They poop just as much in the woods as they do in the city.
• They do, however, adore little creeks and lakes and swim heartily, providing hours of entertainment for small children and large men.
• When cooped up in the camper's bathroom all night (because where else would you keep a duck?) they peep incessantly and crap...... a lot.
• Have I mentioned how much they poop?????

Our duck is 21 days old, and has been on three camping trips and on a jaunt to a bookstore. Fairly soon, my daughter is going to have to face the fact that the duck is going to have to permanently move outside. And instead of running over Barbies with the lawnmower I will be stepping in ducky landmines. Oy.