Protocol 7 » assorted musings on life, interaction, design, and beer

A Brief History of Mal

Mal was found in the garden, unhatched, and incubated by a black chicken. She^[1] came later than the rest, towards the end of the summer, once they had already fledged and left the hen house. It was clear she was a mallard, not a muscovy, and with that the decision was made. A week later she was standing in our kitchen, peeping and looking around curiously, the hen house replaced with a Japanese apartment. We nervously welcomed her, like new parents, attempting to erase the chicken imprint and raise her with an affinity towards people (or at least us).

Mal loved the camera from day one.

We turned the heaters on and sweated out the first couple of days, making sure she had sufficient heat and warm sleeping spots. We moved our blankets into the office and slept on the floor. She would curl up on our chests, in my hair, or by our sides and sleep the sleep of babies. She also pooped a lot, and the apartment soon had strategically placed toilet paper rolls in every room. Laundry was done twice a day, and floors washed every other day.

After the first week the heaters were put away and Mal began to wander the apartment on her own. She would sleep at our feet while we worked at the computer, and learned that the refrigerator held all the goodies. Her meals were prepared with care, supplemented with baby greens, boiled eggs, and tomatoes. Some days it seemed she ate better than we did. A nabe pot^[2] was filled with water for her to splash around in, and the blankets were returned to the bedroom.

Seriously, she loved the camera. Every time I had it out, she’d come running.

Her feathers started to come in, and the fluff out, which filled our apartment with impossible tufts of light down. We purchased a vacuum cleaner since the detritus couldn’t be swept, and Mal began sleeping in our bed (on top of numerous towels). Eventually she was big enough to jump up on her own, always happy with the accomplishment and chirping with joy. She could sense when it was bedtime, clued in by the pre-bed rituals of face washing and teeth brushing, and sometimes would beat us to bed. A couple of times she hid in the sheets, causing a few frantic minutes of searching before giving away her position with a little chirrup. She never liked to be alone, so trips to the bathroom had to be done with the door open so she could follow. Her voice started to change, and she started taking baths in the tub, instead of the stew pot.

The feathers have arrived!

She grew big, and a bit fat, thanks to our doting and attention. Her roundness caused her to sprawl when she sat on the floor, legs splayed out behind her, wings loose and relaxed. Baths became more frequent once we deciphered her actions, the bobbing and dipping while running in circles, indicating a desire for some tub action. We bought toys and knick-knacks to hold her interest while we were away (the toilet room^[3] doubled as a duck playpen). We talked to her and she talked to us, and I like to imagine she understood. Her cuteness gave way to a sleeker look, though you could still see mischief in her eyes.

Mal back at the farm, taking a dip in the pond.

Eventually she was old enough to return to the farm, to become a duck with people friends, having forgotten she was born a chicken. It was incredibly hard to take her back, heart wrenching to leave her in new surroundings without the cushy trappings of apartment life. She is now more duck and less human, but recognizes the boy and I and comes running when we visit (the boy sees her everyday, I see her about once a week). She tugs on our sleeves hoping to get some tomato, ruffles our hair, and gives me duck kisses^[4]. She is a bizarre creature, but one that is loved dearly.

{ fin }

1. For the first four months or so we thought she was a he, and the pronoun change took some adjustment. [↩]
2. I would like to emphasize that it was *only* the pot, the heating apparatus remained in the cupboard. [↩]
3. In Japan, there is one room for the toilet, and another for the bath and shower. If you ask a Japanese person for directions to the bathroom, you will undoubtedly wind up in room without a toilet. [↩]
4. Little duck nibbles on my lips… it sounds gross but it’s really cute. [↩]