The Brown Duck

The duck sleeps on one leg, its head twisted backwards and tucked underneath its right wing. So, too, sleep the geese. The duck sleeps a little separated from the flock, a part of the group, and, yet, apart from the group.

This duck is brown, to oversimplify its plumage. The shades of brown are exquisite and subtly varied, as variegated patches of white and gray also streak across its feathers. But brown, nonetheless. And its beak, when not buried backwards beneath the wings is petite, and tan. A sort of brown.

In the mornings, and in the evenings, when corn kernels are thrown into the air, sprinklered onto the grass beneath the Linden tree, the duck darts back and forth behind the crowd. The rival gangs of turkeys and geese face off, though the turkeys always win – they’re larger, more aggressive, and greater in number. But the geese are louder. And in retaliation for being pushed to the edges of the spread of corn they push the poor duck off the edge. And so, the duck darts back and forth around the circle of fowl, snatching whatever corn kernels lay unattended.

The duck is adopted, begrudgingly, by the geese, and wanders around with them during the day in the same manner, always on the outskirts of the flock, even now, as the duck sleeps, its left leg hyperextended, stiff, still. The duck blends in with the geese, and is missed upon a quick glance. A moment later, the brown registers. The size registers. Little and brown, this duck is no gray goose nor white gander.

Alone, and surrounded by animals so slightly different (so slightly different is one species from another) constantly, this duck is the sole survivor of a once thriving flock of ducks, picked off so gradually and so viciously by the fishercats. This duck does not complain. Ducks do not complain. Even when the water dish is elevated to the height of the geese’s heads to prevent them from splashing in it and dirtying the water. The water dish is too high for the duck. It must struggle and stretch.

The duck does not twitch as it sleeps. If it dreams, it does so peacefully, or at least in tranquility. On one leg, one foot, it balances, out of consciousness, and slightly separated from the geese.