Thursday March 03, 2011 at 14:51

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Seeing this picture reminded me of the ducklings my brother and I received as gifts one Easter when we were children. This was after my father had bought the “farm,” so the ducks fit right in with the chickens. The ducklings attached to us immediately and would follow my brother and I around like children. They were disgustingly adorable. But remembering the ducklings also reminded me of when the ducks got older, and we relocated them to a small pond that was at the back of our property, maybe 4 acres from our house. We’d feed them daily, visit them a few times a week. One day we went back and found the decapitated body of my duck. A few days later, just the body of my brother’s duck. This was clearly traumatizing for young sensitive blossoming gay boys. The beast that murdered our ducks began terrorizing our chickens. They were only safe in the coop, but because our “farm” resembled a Depression-era homestead, our chickens weren’t confined to their coop; they were free to roam to their little hearts’ content… and eventually to their deaths. Turns out it was an owl, and nearly impossible for my father to shoot at night. That’s when I swore I would never support terrorist acts limiting freedom. Also, because of this and other recollections from my childhood that I have perhaps foolishly shared with coworkers, I have a reputation in my department for being kinda… dangerous… for animals and pets. It also strikes me that these are the experiences that kinda made me who I am today.

Seeing this picture reminded me of the ducklings my brother and I received as gifts one Easter when we were children. This was after my father had bought the “farm,” so the ducks fit right in with the chickens. The ducklings attached to us immediately and would follow my brother and I around like children. They were disgustingly adorable.

But remembering the ducklings also reminded me of when the ducks got older, and we relocated them to a small pond that was at the back of our property, maybe 4 acres from our house. We’d feed them daily, visit them a few times a week.

One day we went back and found the decapitated body of my duck. A few days later, just the body of my brother’s duck. This was clearly traumatizing for young sensitive blossoming gay boys.

The beast that murdered our ducks began terrorizing our chickens. They were only safe in the coop, but because our “farm” resembled a Depression-era homestead, our chickens weren’t confined to their coop; they were free to roam to their little hearts’ content… and eventually to their deaths.

Turns out it was an owl, and nearly impossible for my father to shoot at night. That’s when I swore I would never support terrorist acts limiting freedom.

Also, because of this and other recollections from my childhood that I have perhaps foolishly shared with coworkers, I have a reputation in my department for being kinda… dangerous… for animals and pets.

It also strikes me that these are the experiences that kinda made me who I am today.

(Source: the-danimal)

This post was reblogged from Views From Morrison Manor.

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  1. williterate reblogged this from the-danimal and added:
    Seeing this picture reminded me of the ducklings my brother and I received as gifts one Easter when we were children....
  2. the-danimal posted this