This past Sunday morning, we attempted to move Magic into the Pen of Misfit Fowl. After all, she had grown to a size reasonably close to the other ducks and we felt she could stand her mud. One small speed bump hindered the journey however; Magic still did not know one important fact about herself. Magic, as hard as it is for her to believe, is a duck.
We put her in the pen as we did morning farm chores. When we entered the pen to hose out and refill the baby pools and fill the birds’ food, she stuck to us like poo. When we left said pen, she frantically slapped her webbed feet and paced up and down the fence-line mournfully peeping, “Did I do something wrong? Why am I a misfit?” Her fears, and our sympathies, were palpable.
Steeling ourselves to enforce our fowl decision, we left her out there, in the pen, surrounded by scary and strange feathered beings alien to her. “Where are my humans?” she thought. “How could they do this to me?” Magic thought they had loved her but now she was wondering if it was all a lie. Surely not, the female human had caressed her, given her kisses, even shared her bed. The male had taken her swimming almost daily. They had played little head down, tail up games together until, both exhausted from the fun, stood relaxed together, the man standing at pool’s bottom with Magic happily balanced on his shoulder. She loved those times; where did they go? Magic’s life had been turned upside down and she didn’t like it one bit.
While Magic was outdoors experiencing a Lauren-rivaling breakdown, I cleaned out Lupin and Tonk’s cage, moved the now-three-week-old babies into bigger digs (previously inhabited by Magic), and obsessively checked on my girl still pacing in the Pen of Misfit Fowl. She was not doing well. She was panting and hanging her head and, when she got a brief burst of energy, searched for a way out of her new Hell. I began to really worry, like cry-me-a-river worry. When the tears started welling up and spilling over for the umpteenth time, I caved. I couldn’t help it; I have Bleeding Heart Farmer Syndrome. It’s a proven condition.
So now Magic is residing back in her old cage, only now with Tonks and Lupin as roommates. I figure playing Three’s Company together might give them all a clue as to their species and, when we once again attempt to move our sensitive fowl outdoors, they will provide each other with a Three Musketeers-like support system. One for all and all for one, you know. I think they'd look really cute in those smocks, too.
Bleeding Heart Farmer Syndrome. Believe me, it’s real.