The duck having a fabulous time in the rain!
My Dad once had this fantasy that he will one day become a Malay version of Old McDonald. He wanted to have all kinds of farm animals and keep it in a piece of land he bought (which was why he bought a truck). To kick off his new obsession, he got himself a duck. It was a colorful duck with green brown and white feathers. He placed the duck at the back of the house in a small gated area.
Somehow, though I couldn’t quite understand how this turned out, the duck became a really tame duck. Now I’ve always pictured ducks as one of those dreadful animals that quacks all the time and snaps at people’s feet. Well I was right about that quacking thing. But the duck turned out to be nothing as I had expected. He was tame. He was really good friends with our cat, Piper (yes, a male cat that was named Piper. Gay.). He follows my Dad everywhere around the house. When he was smaller my Mom would let him swim in our bath tub.
When we were packing the car to go off for a holiday, the duck would watch us and become just as excited as we were packing. Whenever we left the house with the car, the duck would chase after us (I imagined that he must’ve wanted to say “don’t leave meee!”) until we disappear from the driveway. When we got back, the duck would be standing right by the door. My Mom never let him inside the house, but I think he really wished he could. Everytime the kitchen door is open he would stand by the doorway and watch longingly as Piper the cat goes in and out of the house.
When my Dad first got the duck, he was always saying things like “I can’t wait till this duck grows bigger so we can eat it”, or “I wonder how you taste like as rendang”, but gradually he stopped saying these things. I even caught him having moments with the duck, like him watering the plants and then giving the duck a shower and ducks always love showers! If it rains the duck would paddle around the front lawn having the time of his life swimming in the puddles and pretending to catch fish in there. If we leave the house for too long my Dad would now worry if the duck is not being fed or if the duck is not safe alone.
One day the duck got older and we knew he would have to go soon. He also started to shit everywhere, including the front porch and the staircase, which drove my Mom nuts. So my Dad decided to give him away to our neighbor. He said, “Whatever you do with the duck, don’t tell me about it.” My Dad never looked so sad, and believe me, my Dad is no animal lover. We later found out that our neighbor ate the poor duck.
That’s why I hate having pets. They always die! And also, I think from then on, I sort of get it why some people become vegetarians.