Learning to Fly: A Tale of Two Ducks

Wednesday morning, Girl put Crest on a diet, and Dwyn suffered for it. 

Dwyn was an exceptionally thin, sleek duck. She had a small shiny head and little half-moon eyes. The dark line running across her face made her look regal, like an Egyptian princess. She ate luxuriously, like any reasonable fowl would, but was not, in any means, fat.

But Crest was, and consequently there was an unmistakable deprivation of food. Dwyn, like Girl, disapproved of her comrades proudly worn chubbiness. This did not, however, signify it was time to cut the meals short! 

That terrible day, Dwyn and Crest faithfully followed Girl. They pointed out to her that their dish was empty, and then looked at her accusingly. Girl only smiled and walked away. So they continued to stalk her. 

“Forage, forage!” Girl cried finally. Dwyn poked her bill into the horribly dry grass, resurfaced, then gave her a pointed look. Girl frowned right back. “You two need to learn to survive on your own. I won’t always be here to serve you like a human slave.” She eyed Crest, who was preening luxuriously. “I think Crest might even be too fat to fly.” She muttered. 

Dwyn pretended to be offended by this comment (as if she disagreed), while Crest himself remained oblivious and nibbled hopefully on a browned grass stalk. Girl stooped down and swept him up into her arms. His startled squawk mingled with her exaggerated “oof”. Dwyn, being nimble and clever, could get away from Girl easily and avoid being captured, unless she was cornered behind the trash bins. Crest was less adept, and was often subject to cuddling and hugs because of it. Now, however, Girl lifted him up and down as though weighing the poor bird. Then she tossed him lightly into the air. Cress flapped his wings frantically and managed to stay aloft well enough to not completely crash into the ground. But his landing was still rough, and as Girl said, in a tone of true disappointment, “just as I thought,” Dwyn could see that her waterfowl friend was completely mortified. 

She quacked for him to come along, and they both waddled away, Dwyn holding her bill high in indignant dignity. They need not take any more of this! Somehow they would find food for themselves, better than any Girl had to offer!

Attempt one – fallen crab apples

The crab apple tree, an elegant, if stocky plant stood proudly in the front yard. Since it was nearing Autumn, its fruit was bursting from every branch, round and red. It cast a generous amount of shade around it, shielding any who was beneath it from the hot September sun. Someone driving by on the street would admire it and perhaps think of how much they would like to have a picnic underneath it, in that lovely shade. And if they looked close enough, they would see that someone was. Two young ducks, one thin and sleek, one very round. Both poking their bills into the ground and coming up with something to chew on – something round hard, and, as far as Crest was concerned, inedible. 

The crabapple fell out of his bill and he cocked his head to stare at. He vaguely recalled a memory of Girl breaking off little pieces of this shiny fruit with her thumbnail and holding it out in her palm for him to eat. He had liked the food then; crisp, bitter flesh that he swallowed easily. This, however, was not that. It was whole and apparently unbreakable. In form and texture, it could have been easily mistaken as a pebble by any duck. 

Dwyn insisted that they eat it, though. She masticated one resolutely now, her black eyes glinting ferociously. Crest was grateful that she had been angry with Girl for the way she had humiliated him, and that Dwyn was now trying so hard to find them food, but her attempts seemed futile to him. So far today they had wandered mostly aimlessly around the front yard until coming to the crabapple tree, which had been a lot of tiring work in and of itself, and now… this. So far it had been one of the more exhausting days of Crest’s life. He felt somewhat as he had the day he had broken out of his egg – so completely tired that he just wanted to lie down as though dead in the grass. But he was a grown duck now, and when grown ducks were tired, they either ignored it or took a nap the proper way, with one eye open and their head tucked under a wing. Dwyn always looked so marvelously intimidating and watchful when she slept, but Crest looked rather silly, because of the giant poof of feathers on top of his head. Dwyn assured him it was going to become a beautiful crown, but Girl laughingly called it his “scragglepoof,” which sounded anything but complimentary.

Crest settled down to take a nap now, deciding he had done enough work for today. He had just tucked his head under his wing, seriously considering closing both eyes, when Dwyn squawked in that same indignant voice that it was time to move on. Crest’s little heart stuttered in disbelief. Keep moving, already? He was beginning to think that Dwyn was almost as bad as Girl with the way she was making him work. But he was such a trusting little fowl by nature, and he trusted Dwyn more than anyone, so he got to his feet and the two little ducks continued on their way. 

Attempt two – dandelion puffs

Dad was a tall, bearded human with strong arms and a fierce face that he had passed onto his daughter, though she only used it in the sternest of situations. He was feared and respected by many, including the ducks. They would often flatten themselves out on the ground as a sign of humility and submission (or perhaps just an attempt to go unnoticed). Dad liked that he gave this impression to the world, and so he hated the only creatures who paid him no mind, did not do as he told them, and blatantly insulted him without consequence.

Dandelions. 

The infernal yellow-headed weeds spread across the backyard, coming in droves each spring. “They divide and conquer,” Girl would sometimes say. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.” She would, by request of her father, often be found pulling up the offending flowers and piling them into a wheelbarrow, which would wheel them to a pile of sticks and other flammable objects. This pile would, every few months, be set on fire, observed by Dad, who wore the expression of a man at war. The ducks always stayed very far away from these almost ritualized burning ceremonies, perhaps out of fear that Dad would spot them and decide he would like roast duck for supper. 

But the dandelions were the ducks' friends. Crest and Dwyn would oftentimes accompany Girl whenever she was pulling the weeds, because she would feed them sunny, fluffy heads to the fowl. They tasted soft and buttery. Crest and Dwyn headed towards their field now, hoping for a taste of those delicious yellow tops. 

Upon coming to the field, however, Dwyn could not see a single yellow bulb. She waddled on and still found nothing, only strange fluffy white spheres where the buttery flowers used to be. She turned her head and stared at it. What was this thing? She pecked at it experimentally. A few bits of the white fluff broke off and drifted away on the breeze. Curious, Dwyn nibbled this new type of dandelion. The rest of the fluff flew off (except for that which remained in Dwyn’s bill). Now, this was intriguing. Dwyn quacked to Crest, who joined her happily in the activity of ridding each weed of its fluff. 

Though this was quite fun, it in no way provided food worth eating. The fluff was bland and hard to swallow. The grumbling continued to issue from both duck’s stomachs. 

And then a sound like a bomb exploding cut through the lovely afternoon quiet. “WHAT ARE THOSE DUCKS DOING TO MY YARD?”

In fright and panic, Crest and Dwyn fled, only to find themselves face-to-face with Dad, who glared down at them with a maniacal glint in his eyes. He towered over them, face contorted with rage.

Both terrified fowl dropped to the ground, flattening themselves out as much as possible. Dad stared at them, perhaps again considering the ways in which duck can be cooked. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he turned away and began to pick his way gingerly through the field of fluffy weeds. 

“Dandelion seeds everywhere now! Whole lot of ‘em are gonna take over the yard next spring!” Dad muttered strings of profanities and yard-care terminology to himself.

Crest and Dwyn disappeared as fast as they could, Crest exercising more than he had in his life just to get away. 

Attempt three – the mysterious enclosure

All the ducks’ lives, the backyard had been theirs, and they could go wherever they pleased within it. They had learned long ago that they could not leave the yard, in an incident in which they had followed Girl across the road one afternoon when she was getting the mail, paused, confused, right in the middle of it, and nearly been run over by a car. But within the yard there was not a place they were not allowed to roam, in all of the three acres. 

Except for one.

Off in one shaded corner of the backyard there was a large pen with walls made of wire and a little wooden gate that would open and close. Dad and Girl would sometimes go into it, and sometimes Crest and Dwyn could hear odd noises coming from it, not like their own loud quacks, but similar. The cage was surrounded, for the most part, by tall grass, so that the ducks could not see inside. Even when they had begun to learn to fly, they had not attempted to enter this strange place from which came strange noises and smells, because Girl had warned them not to. 

But one day, only two or so days after the two ducks had been put on a diet, Dwyn saw Girl enter the enclosure with a pail that smelled very strongly of food. A few minutes later, Girl came back out without the pail. Dwyn had seen this a few times before, but she had never paid it any mind – until now. She looked at the pen, then at Girl, her eyes pensive and calculating. 

“Oh, I know that look, Dwyn,” Girl said, pausing beside the ducks and placing her hands on her hips. “You’re thinking something up, aren’t you?” she bent down and narrowed her eyes at Dwyn, who was now trying to appear innocent. “I can see it in your beady little eyes,” she hissed.

But her expression warmed again as she went to pick up Crest, who squawked in protest but could not get away. “Not Crest, though. He doesn’t have any mischief in those cute little eyes!”

Despite the suffering Girl had put Crest through the past couple of days, he could not help but feel wonderful on the inside at her warm tone and the way she stroked his head. He quacked his happy quack. 

“I think you’ve actually lost some weight, Crest!” Girl exclaimed in astonishment. 

Dwyn did not like that Girl was bringing up Crest’s weight again, but Crest loved any kind of praise and bobbed his head joyfully. 

           Girl released Crest finally. He was still hungry, but if he got that kind of commendation because of it (he had somehow linked the two things) then perhaps it was worth it after all! And he had been feeling less and less tired with every food-quest Dwyn led them on (he had linked this with the hunger, too). This had to be a good thing!

            Dwyn did not think so. As soon as Girl left the ducks, Dwyn began again to calculate how they would get into that enclosure. They would have that food, whether Girl liked it or not! And probably she would not like it at all. All the better, Dwyn thought ruefully. She was very hungry, you see.

           Dwyn quacked to Crest, who followed her reluctantly across the lawn to the strange enclosure. Both ducks tilted their heads to look up at that wooden gate, Dwyn still and calculating, Crest very confused. What were they doing? he wondered. He could never tell when it came to Dwyn, never knew what she was thinking. This was odd, since they had been companions since hatching, and Dwyn could easily tell what was on Crest's mind. Crest scrutinized her, but came up with nothing and returned to pecking the ground with contented, murmuring quacks.

          Finally, Dwyn realized what they had to do to get into that pen. She knew that it was possible for her, but what about for her chubby companion, who needed this more than she did by far…

They would just have to try it and see.

          With a determined squawk, Dwyn divulged to Crest her plan. He looked at her in surprise. That was not at all what he had guessed her to be thinking. But, always so trusting, Crest followed Dwyn’s orders, both of them preparing for take off, wings at the ready…

           Dwyn took flight and soared directly into the pen. Crest flapped his wings hopefully, and in the end simply gave up. He had tried, he figured, and Dwyn, as usual, would figure things out.

           Dwyn could not figure things out. The enclosure was stranger from the inside than it had appeared from the outside! It seemed to hold another pen inside of it, shaped somewhat like the home of Girl and Dad, with one open door. The rest of the enclosure was actually quite filthy. Whoever lived here had a messier lifestyle than even the ducks, and that was saying something. But even through the smell of this other animal, there remained that heavenly scent – food. Dwyn cautiously approached the open door, trying to plan out her next move should she encounter one of the filthy creatures that inhabited this place.

       Her thinking time was cut short however, when a ball of scraggly white feathers wearing a strange red cap wobbled out of the door, looking a bit intoxicated. Who are you? It clucked rudely.

        Trying to hide how disgusted she was, Dwyn quickly managed to explain that she had come in here by mistake (it wasn't really a lie – coming into the strange enclosure had obviously been a mistake), and would be promptly leaving. 

        Who are you? The thing asked again.

        Dwyn reluctantly introduced herself, using simple words since this animal was obviously not that which often put its brain to good use. I'm a duck. She explained. A bird. 

        Ah, you bird! The thing flapped its bedraggled, dirty wings in what Dwyn guessed was supposed to be an intimidating and impressive manner. I bird also!

       The poor creature had to be confused, Dwyn thought sympathetically. It was obviously not a bird of any kind. Where were its friends? Perhaps they could sort this all out. Then again, Dwyn shuddered to think of a whole species that was like this charming fellow. Oh, no, Dwyn said politely, you are not really a bird.

        It clucked in outrage, and flew suddenly at the poor duck, who squawked loudly in surprise.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the wire, Crest was dozing happily when he heard the voice of his dearest friend, calling out in distress. Crest arose at once. Dwyn was trapped, still, inside of that awful enclosure, and now she was calling for help! Without a second thought, thinking only of Dwyn, Crest spread his mighty wings and soared (only a little clumsily) over the fence. The sight that met his eyes was a very odd, unfortunate one of Girl, Dwyn being held protectively in one arm, a very wild-looking bird in the other. Both were squawking indignantly, though in truth, Dwyn was incredibly relieved that, in the last moment, Girl had come to her rescue, probably drawn by the war cry of this thing she had recently learned was called a chicken. The unhappy quack that Crest had actually heard was that of Dwyn when she was scooped up, for the first time in quite a while, into Girl’s arms. Both she and the chicken now struggled violently against their captor (or rescuer).

But despite being clucked at and clawed at, Girl’s face was completely aglow with pride, more radiant than Crest had ever seen it, and – oh, how wonderful this was! – it was directed at him. “Crest!” She cried, finally releasing Dwyn, who went instantly to her companion’s side. Her heart, too, was practically bursting with pride for her friend. “Crest, you flew!”

Crest thought – no, was actually quite certain – that it was the best moment of his life. 

And he was sure that in just a moment (maybe with Dwyn's help) he would figure out why.