Sitting Ducks

A few weeks ago, I resigned myself to giving our pet ducks the chop and went to the hardware store to buy an axe. After scanning every aisle and drawing pictures of axes for the staff, I concluded that I might have to find something else to do the job? Would hedge clippers be strong enough to cut through their necks in one foul cut?  Maybe a quick sideways blow with a scythe?  Could I be sure that a sharp spade would go through cleanly and inflict the least pain? Repulsed by my thoughts, I went home empty-handed.

It was a pity really. I even had a friend lined up to deal the fatal blows.  There's no need for you to imagine two headless ducks running around suburban Osaka though. Our ducks couldn't walk. Yes, that's right: lame ducks!  Much to everyone’s lament, our ducks couldn't swim either. Their legs were so stunted, broken and twisted that the only things they could do were sit, eat and poo.  When they sat quietly, they made a somewhat attractive still life decoration in our little garden.  At the right angle, they looked great in photos, but when they tried to move by flailing their scab-ridden legs around to no avail, there was also a sense of revulsion.  My instinct told me to get rid of them, to put them out of their misery but the voice of socialisation complained of discrimination against the handicapped. Yes, these ducks were ugly and unable to fend for themselves but if they were people, we would never dream of "putting them down."  Perhaps these ducks could contribute to society in their own way?

So I tried to find a raison d'etre for the sitting ducks of Osaka. Stardom perhaps?  They'd be very co-operative in movies, commercials or for catalogue shoots since they were big, white, fluffy ducks that couldn't move. With great enthusiasm, I took some great shots of our sitting ducks and sent them to a modeling agency that had animals, as well as people, on its books.  Much to my dismay and subsequent ill feelings towards modeling agencies, my beautiful sitting ducks were rejected even before they had a chance to audition.  

Next I started to think about my sitting ducks’ potential to teach society to be kind to the disabled. Perhaps they'd make good pets for a kindergarten or a school? The kids could learn all sorts of lessons about responsibility, gentleness, kindness, protecting the weak. I enthusiastically approached some kindergarten teachers but my ducks were rejected once again. The kindergarten teachers wanted something a bit cuter, a bit more kawaii.

Perhaps you're wondering why my ducks are lame? It took three vets diagnoses, hours of online research, calls to the pet food company and the help of my local Consumer Affairs Bureau before we reached the conclusion that the protein and mineral levels of the duck food I’d been feeding them were inadequate for ducklings. That put a new, uncomfortable angle on things – as their substitute mother, it was my negligence that led to their downfall. Rather than take the blame though, I tried to deflect it towards the pet food company but there was not enough proof. For these two unlucky ducks, our research came too late but if you're ever raising ducklings, make sure their food has 30% protein, includes grit and lots of green, leafy vegetables. Ducklings also need some sun, but watch out for crows and weasels that have a keen appetite for the tender meat inside these yellow balls of fluff.

Our ducks were quick to become fully grown. While I was busy learning where we went wrong and soul-searching my own response to the disabled, the ducks just sat and whiled away their days. In a somewhat schizophrenic way, I gently fed and tended to them day and night while eagerly anticipating their end. I gained new compassion for the many Japanese men and women who tend to their bed-ridden parents for years on end without respite.

At one stage, I concluded that it would be kindest to have the ducks put down so I headed to a vet with the ducks in a cardboard box. The vet felt that the ducks were able to survive without life support so euthanasia (anrakushi) was not appropriate. I then learned that Japanese vets very rarely resort to euthanasia. Even blind, cancer-ridden, incontinent cats and dogs are usually left for nature to take its course. I questioned why Westerners tend to think it kinder to relieve pain, even if that means an earlier death.

I drove the ducks home again and they sat quietly while I racked my brains about their future.  They'd been rejected as photographic models and kindergarten "teachers" of moral responsibility. Now, with the vet unwilling to euthanize them, they'd even been rejected by death.

Things got even more complicated. My next door neighbour started to help me care for my sitting ducks. In her mind, these ducks brought back happy memories of her daughter – who had died in a motorbike accident some years before after tending to ducks at her university. My neighbour knew I felt it kindest to “put them out of their misery” but in her mind, euthanasia was wrong.

We kept the status quo for a while.  There was more soul searching, tending to their physical needs and the hard grind of cleaning up the food they passed and sat in all day.

But over time, I finally found a way to bring purpose to their lives and for them to be valued.

My sitting ducks were plump and tender. With tear-filled eyes, I put them in a box and delivered them to the house of a friend who was a skilled hunter and keen cook. I knew their fate and my own hypocrisy as a meat-eater who couldn’t eat them. Without stopping to say goodbye, I drove home to face my neighbour.  She had already noticed the ducks were gone and knew my feelings about euthanasia. Despite our different views on death, we both sobbed and mourned the passing of our lovely sitting ducks.