Rouen ducks, with their substantial size and domesticated nature, are often perceived as flightless birds, more at home waddling around farmyards than soaring through the sky. Many believe these ducks are earthbound, content to dabble in ponds and forage in fields. However, reality, as observed through the remarkable story of one resilient Rouen duck, reveals a more nuanced picture of their capabilities.
For years, my neighbor and I raised Rouen ducklings together, a charming brood delivered straight to our doors. These ducklings grew into the large-bodied Rouen ducks known for their rich meat, seemingly destined for a life close to the ground. We guided them to a nearby stock tank, envisioning a peaceful existence for them. Yet, to our surprise, these ducks, despite being relocated, decided to walk back to our fence line the very next day, requiring another escort back to their pond.
These Rouen ducks, while possessing impressive size, were indeed seemingly flightless in the traditional sense. Their flight attempts were clumsy, limited to mere feet above the water’s surface and for very short distances. This perceived inability to fly made them vulnerable, especially to local predators like raccoons and coyotes. Tragically, one by one, the ducks vanished, victims of these predators, leaving no trace behind, save for a single survivor – a male Rouen duck.
This lone drake, whom I affectionately named “Survivor Duck,” defied the odds. His continued presence became a daily question mark. How had he managed to evade the dangers that claimed his companions for years? What was his secret to survival?
Every morning, my routine included a visit to the stock tank, scattering feed for Survivor Duck and the fish within. Almost daily, he would paddle towards me, eagerly anticipating his breakfast. His feeding technique was remarkable; his head moved with the rapid efficiency of a sewing machine, blurring as he snatched pellets from the water’s surface. He grew accustomed to my presence, becoming almost tame, waddling beside me and accepting food from my hand, both on land and water. While I doubt he would tolerate being picked up, he allowed a surprisingly close approach. On days when Survivor Duck was absent, a sense of unease would creep in, fearing the worst. But invariably, within a day or two, he would reappear, churning through the water towards me at the sound of the feed container opening.
The answer to the mystery of his survival came unexpectedly. One morning, approaching the stock tank, Survivor Duck was nowhere to be seen on the water. Then, my gaze shifted upwards. There, against the sky, was a duck in flight, soaring at an estimated fifty feet above ground. I watched in astonishment as it flew the length of the stock tank, banked gracefully, circled over my property and the neighbor’s, and then returned, completing its loop above the water.
As the duck descended, it extended its bright orange feet like landing skids and touched down in the water, a mere twenty feet away. It was Survivor Duck. Our “flightless” Rouen duck was flying, and flying proficiently. This newfound aerial skill explained his improbable survival. He had found a way to escape predators from above, a refuge his earthbound brethren lacked. It became clear that at least this Rouen duck, contrary to common assumptions, was not flightless at all.
Perhaps Survivor Duck’s story is a testament to adaptation. Faced with the constant threat of predators, he seemingly evolved, or perhaps discovered, an innate ability to fly, transforming from a vulnerable target into an elusive survivor. It’s a powerful reminder that even within breeds considered domesticated and somewhat limited, the instinct for survival and the capacity for adaptation can lead to surprising and remarkable feats. There’s a valuable lesson in Survivor Duck’s tale – the ability to adapt and overcome can lead to unexpected resilience and success, even in the face of adversity.
