Hmm. A quick google search reveals that there are dozens of recipes for steamed duck. I have to admit that sounds a little disgusting (even when paired with sake), but then again, I don’t like duck, period.
However, lest you think my first blog post is about something as mundane as poultry, allow me to explain. Strolling into my apartment at about 10pm last evening, I glanced toward the pond, as I usually do. I never quite realized it until just now, but it’s a habit I’ve developed ever since a white duck took up residence there. Some kid probably got him for Easter and dumped him into the pond. I figured the duck would be around for a month or two and then depart for greener..er..water sources. But he’s still there.
I don’t actually know if he’s a he, but in my head he is definitely male; his name is TAD, which stands for The Aflac Duck. He’s made it through two winters. His white feathers are a little dingy from the equally dingy water he calls home. And his quacking never fails to make me laugh, especially when it’s perfectly timed to when I round the corner and come into his plane of vision.
Lately, he’s been hoarse. I never knew a duck could be hoarse, but I’m sure there’s a Disney cartoon somewhere that does it justice. Last night I realized the problem. Like so many of us, he’s suffering from the change of the seasons. As I walked down the path, idly glancing over to see what TAD was up to, I noticed the pond was steaming, due no doubt to the rapid drop of the temperature from the previously warm climes we’ve been enjoying. And TAD was cruising through the steam in grand ocean-liner fashion, regal, proud, haughty. Until he opened his beak and gave me a “welcome home” shout-out. It was a raspy, sickly sound that shouldn’t have made me laugh, but did. I sure hope he didn’t hear me laughing at him. I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings.