House drake Charlie: An egg became love

Okay, it took our author some time for the wild drake to fully conquer her heart. But he doesn’t let up. About the special experience of having an egg laid in the family nest.

The duckling must have misunderstood something. Because there are clear signs that Charlie thinks he is a dog. How he sits enthroned on his personal doormat in front of the shoe rack in the hallway. Chatters excitedly when there is a visitor at the door or one of us comes home. How he snaps for shoelaces or, rather, pinches heels. Incidentally, caution is required here, because ducks that bark usually also bite. And a duck bite like that can hurt like hell.

Favorite hobby: pulling other people’s laces

© Enver Hirsch / Barbara

Charlie is a mallard drake. The fact that he has a thing for dogs is due to our dog Maja, who took care of him when he came to us. Charlie came to us because of my brother – and a long time ago.

how it all started

Spring 2003, family walk along the Elbe. My parents, my sister, who was in the middle of puberty at the time, our two brothers, Maja, a terrier-schnauzer mix, and I, the youngest, who was nine years old at the time. Always nice along the river, a weekend classic, because there was no other hotspot in our village. And I think the only one who really never found it boring was the younger of my brothers, who was twelve at the time. It’s always straight off through the reeds towards the water. Only that day he was back a few minutes later, a little out of breath and really excited: “Look!” In his hands: an egg. The shell slightly broken. “It just lay there between the stones,” he asserted. We looked around and slowly approached the site. Far and wide no bird, no nest, no more eggs to be seen.

My parents are the kind of animal lovers who like to let a mole dig up their whole garden, who even put up with a wasp’s nest around the house – so the egg came with them. Today we know that you cannot make such a decision yourself, but that it is the responsibility of the hunting tenant responsible for the area. Did we act illegally back then? No idea. But it’s too late for that question now.

From the foundling egg to the domestic drake

A friend of my grandfather had an incubator and the foundling egg came in there. We didn’t even know what kind of bird it was. And nobody really believed that there was still life in it anyway. But after about three weeks, grandpa called: “Something has hatched. A duck.” So I quickly laid out an empty shoe box with a towel and off we went, accompanied by disbelief and overwhelm. Indeed, a chick! And now?

The little ball of fluff with a squeaky voice was allowed into the living room, where the whole family and the dog admired it. As far as pets go, we’ve been through all the classics: dogs, hamsters, budgies, fish. But such a wild duckling on the home Berber carpet was new. Because it wasn’t clear yet whether we were dealing with duck or drake, the name had to be neutral: Charlie. Weeks later, the neat green drake glow developed on his little head.

My mother sifted through duck literature. On Charlie’s menu were nettles, dandelions, grains and – very important – freshly dug worms and snails. Still his favorite dish today. In addition to spaetzle, which my mother cooks especially for the spoiled drake, because “he likes it so much”.

Charlie has been with us for 18 years.

My parents then asked a biologist friend of mine for further wild bird knowledge: “Oh, as soon as it has its flight feathers, it’s gone,” he knew. “In six months at the latest.” Well, not quite. Charlie has been with us – completely voluntarily, by the way – for 18 years. In fact, no one could have guessed that, because in the wild ten years is probably the maximum for mallards like him.

Luckily we have a large garden, and luckily even I was slowly getting out of the age when you still need a sandbox or a playhouse, even if the pain of parting hit me unexpectedly: the sandbox had to make way for a pond, the playhouse became a duck coop , my father worked really hard. And somehow even I had to give up my place as a family chick.

House drake Charlie: duck house in the garden

Good stable: the former children’s playhouse – in duckbill yellow

© Enver Hirsch / Barbara

Charlie wowed everyone with sheer cuteness. Also me. But he was getting older – and bolder. At the latest in summer, when I could no longer walk barefoot in the garden without being attacked by his hard duck bill, my affection was a bit over. He and I had probably hit puberty at the same time. He knew what to tease me with, and anyway I had other things on my mind than playing with a duck in the garden. At some point I was really embarrassed by our unusual family member – totally uncool, such a duck as a pet. Couldn’t we just be normal?

It was different with Charlie and my brothers, they wrestled with each other, used every opportunity to test their strength with the cheeky piece, everyone took it, no one took offense at the other, teenage boys among themselves. That’s probably why Charlie still happily freaks out when he hears my brothers’ cars pull into the yard. His loud croaking takes over, he storms towards her with his long neck, he even lifts off a bit the last few meters and then fights a wild duel with her shoelaces. I’m dispatched with some chatter and a sure-fire bite on the shoe.

Once in a while Charlie flew away. Over to the neighbors, sometimes as far as the main street. Once he even disappeared for a whole night, and what happened back then in the dark will remain his secret forever. But he kept waddling up the driveway. And so we never got to the point of even having to imagine what it would be like without him.

Whether Charlie is lonely, without any of his own kind?

One summer a pair of mallards landed on his garden pond. And Charlie? Couldn’t have cared less. That speaks against the thesis that he assumes he is a dog – otherwise he would have chased the two of them off the farm. But these visitors he ignored. He has other friends. For example the stuffed polar bear that we put in the box for him when he was just a chick and that he still falls asleep next to to this day. Above all, he had a special relationship with our dog Maja. At first she took care of him like her own puppy. Later she patiently let his aggression wash over her. Like all of us. When Maja died almost ten years ago, he nudged her again with his beak, tugged at her ceiling – no more growling from her, as usual.

But with Charlie, it still feels a little like there’s a dog in the house. Ever since he was old and allowed to sleep inside because, according to my mother, “he doesn’t like being outside that much anymore”, he has taken Maja’s place in the hallway.

Charlie seems to find it comfortable in our nest, little by little we children left it. First my big sister, then me, and eventually our brothers too. Occasionally I tell new acquaintances about our wacky pet. Charlie’s story causes amazement, fits of laughter, even envy. And it has long been clear to me: he’s not that uncool, this wild drake with a pronounced tendency to be a guard dog.

barbara

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