Dangling Duck Dick Disease

Duck Tales Part 2: Lame Ducks

Hah. Bet that grabbed your attention. Returning to my saga of living with ducks, we left off when Mr. GG insisted on bringing home 3 new ducklings to accompany our one lonely Peking white, Big Duck. The assimilation worked out after a few glitches, and we had a cosmopolitan mix of 4 different kinds of ducks. For our purposes, I will eschew the technical stuff and say there was a big white one, a tiny black one, a gray and white one and a gray one. Ducks are kinda noisy. We kept them in our big yard in a residential neighborhood not too far from downtown Boise. There may have been ordinances about keeping poultry in this area, but somehow I never checked into it. One thing life has taught me is that it is way better to ask forgiveness than permission. Amazingly, none of our neighbors ever complained. At least to our faces. Perhaps the fact that Mr. GG was on the local irrigation committee that decided who got water to flood irrigate factored into this.

Because we had an irrigation canal running along side our yard, we let the ducks puddle around in it on the days it ran. And we bought them a blue kiddie wading pool for the days when the water got diverted to other neighborhoods. These ducks had it good. Us? Not so much. We were kind of a downer at parties, when we’d say, “Hmm. Getting dark, guess we gotta go home and get the ducks in”.

By now, we had learned about raccoons, and German Shepards, and other natural enemies of the duck, so we made sure they were locked into the gigantic duck house Mr. GG built. It had locking doors, ventilation, glass windows, removable top, heat lamps, etc. The ducks knew that when dusk arrived, it was bed time, and we herded them in, even thought they weren’t done playing. In the winter, the red glow from the heat lamp made it look like a miniature bawdy house. A duck den of iniquity. A cat house for ducks. And so it was.

Four ducks shook out to include 3 males and 1 female. Ducks have no sense of decorum. They quack, and poop, and set up a racket when the least little leaf blows by and startles them. And they mate. A lot. Wasn’t long before eggs started appearing in the duck house. I refused to eat them. Ewww. I knew these ducks. I’d seen what they ate, and it was nasty.

The ducks were pretty healthy. Big Duck had a tendency to hurt his foot. The first time this happened, I called local vets to see who handled poultry (in a big city, there are not a lots of duck docs. And I didn’t want to take him to a quack. Hoho, I quack myself up). I lugged a cardboard box full of duck into a busy urban clinic. Big Duck made quite the racket, until all the Rottweilers, Dobermans and cats got a whiff of him. Then it got really really quiet inside that box. The upshot was that Big Duck suffered Bumblefoot, a swelling that required antibiotics and epsom salt foot soaks to cure. I had to fix up a pan of warm salted water and then manage to get a towel, the pan, and Big Duck onto my lap, so I could forcibly soak his foot. Good times. Oh, yeah. Then apply the antibiotic. Then he would hop down and waddle through some disgusting duck effluvia, getting his foot all filthy again.

The worst thing ever though, was Dangling Duck Dick Disease. This is not the technical name, I made it up. When I first noticed something was wrong with Gray Duck, I did my research on the internet, and found out it was something like, “prolapsed penis”. If there are any guys reading this, you may want to leave the room. Just back away from the computer. It gets worse.

Ducks get this from too much duck nookie. The “thing”, falls out of their bodies. It is a corkscrew shaped organ. I think my retinas burned out for a week after seeing this. I don’t generally panic in the face of trouble, but this one had me on the verge of hysterics. It was a particularly stressful time in our lives, and on top of this Mr. GG was about to leave for a forest fire in California. While he was packing his hard hat and flame retardant clothing, I was on the computer, finding out that Gray Duck had a fatal problem. Death was pretty imminent. Once in a while, the whole thing could be delayed if …… okay, get this….. the duck’s penis was reinserted into his body.

I have got to say, that when needed, Mr. GG always steps up to the plate. I refused to let him leave me with this over my head. I went in the house, found a 10 year old xanax and took it while Mr. GG dealt with things. The reinsertion and subsequent euthanasia, when the situation deteriorated.

It was awful. Mr. GG spared me. God, I love that man. But this incident traumatized both of us, and after the horror faded, “dangling duck dick disease” became the worst thing I could ever wish on anybody. You really have to get me frothing-at-the-mouth mad, but I will curse you with it.

I don’t really think humans are susceptible, and I am not going to consult a proctologist or urologist to confirm this. But if it is communicable, then somebody ought to spread it around the halls of power. Instead of anthrax. Might make a few politicos think twice. John Edwards and Governor Sanford, I’m talking about you.

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One Response to “Dangling Duck Dick Disease”

  1. bohemian momma. no ducks Says:

    Lady. You are so hilarious. Thank you thank you for your blog. I love you dammit!

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