PDub passed away yesterday at 7:46pm.
I should back up. Tuesday when I got home from work there was a dead bird in the backyard. I immediately interrogated everyone and filmed it. When I asked PDub she made a weird noise and then snot started coming out of her beak at an alarming rate. I remembered that Duane, the ag teacher, had told me that you had to be careful with fowl because they can get repiratory diseases. When I saw him yesterday afternoon, I explained the duck's symptoms and he said, yes she was sick and it could get quite serious. "How will I know it's serious?" I asked. "She'll die." He answered matter-of-factly. Nevertheless, I made arrangements with Duane to take my duck to school today so she could get an antibiotic shot and I went to Jessica's to get the cat carrier and I came home and PDub was just floating in her pool. Not swimming. Just floating. So I told her that she just had to hold on until the morning because we were going to go to school. I was so excited to take my duck to school. I had it all thought out. I was going to document everything and get my picture in the yearbook with my duck. About 7:30 I went out back and she was still floating and quite a bit lethargic and it made me worried that she might die in the pool and that that would not be good for me, so I got her out of her pool and she quickly fell over, shook once and then died.
Having never actually seen anything die, I did the only thing I could think of which was scream, "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!" And then call Jessica, my mom and Sarah. My mom suggested maybe she wasn't actually dead and in the morning I could take her to Duane's kids and that "maybe they can do something." My mom was rather vague on the something, but I couldn't imagine anything besides either taxidermy or reanimation à la Frankenstein and I wasn't interested in either. I wasn't sure if I could dig a hole and Sarah suggested I put her in the freezer until today, then she would come over and dig a hole. I told Sarah I was not going to put the duck in the freezer. She countered with that's what they do with people and I said, yes, but it's not generally the same freezer where you keep the chicken you're going to eat. (Yes, I'm aware of the irony in that statement.) Finally, I decided that I would dig a hole and I started, but then I hit a root about a foot down so I sent a message to Patricio, he who has buried many a dead chicken, to see if a foot was deep enough and he said, "No." And I said, well, I've got a problem. He provided me with a solution which was much better because it did not involve me digging any more of a hole in the dark. Then, the dogs and I reflected quietly on PDub's life and took a pain pill because turns out, digging was not such a good idea for me.
This morning I called Duane and told him that, indeed, PDub's respiratory disease was serious and he offered his condolences. In fact, many people offered their condolences- people whom I didn't even know knew I had a duck. And in fourth period this girl said, "Mlle, we were all very sad in Ag to hear about your duck." And I said, "Merci." It was fate, because my meal plan had me eating for lunch today the last of the fritata I had made with PDub's eggs and I had a small mini-memorial service in my head before ate.
The Little Backyard is a lonely desolate place right now.
This is what duck pneumonia sounds like.
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