A Ducktail

THE FLORITA

IT WAS HOT, AND MY DUCK WAS GONE. ... OK, time to make the long story shorter. Duck is both a duck and a representative of the bird community frequently referred to as ducks. She's one of four I adopted back in May (and have blogged about on both the Wild Flora's Farm and Wild Gardening blogs). Yesterday we had a bit of a broo hoo hoo, as one might expect when adopting poultry. The ducks were learning how to fly; my ancient Great Pyrenees dog Molly (blogged about frequently at the Wild Flora's Farm blog) suddenly Rediscovered her Lost Youth and decided to (try to) chase them. Duck (the others being named Cover, Run, and Hide) took off. We made a sincere effort to find her but, alas, she seemed to have Vanished.

Cut to: The following day, and it was Hot. Hot by Nova Scotia standards is not ALL THAT hot--low 80s--but is humid enough to drown a squid. I'm not a fan of Heat, so I would have been in a Bad Mood anyway, even if Duck's disappearance had not been not preying upon my mind.

I got up early and went looking for Duck. I took my walking stick, which has a carved raven's head on the top, and I found my way carefully down the steep slope behind the house, which goes down to the pond. I was very worried that Duck was trapped somewhere, worried enough so that I took risk I'd fall and end up trapped myself as a result. But ... no Duck.

Cut to: The day has passed. It's almost 5. I've been looking for Duck every few hours, and have not seen or heard anything of her. In the meantime, I've cleaned the bathroom and washed the bathroom floor on a day when, really, I should have been lying on my bed naked, with a fan playing carelessly upon my supine body. The lack of nakedness and absence of my friend fan did not improve my mood.

I want a treat. More specifically, I want something cold, and an alcoholic beverage is sounding pretty good right now. We don't drink alcohol much, so there's not much in the house. We are also out of ice.

I go to the freezer, where I find a giant bag of no-name frozen fruit, kept in the freezer for emergencies just like this one: peach slices, strawberries, melon balls, pineapple chunks, whole grapes. I bring it inside and fill a martini glass with frozen fruit chunks. The only alcohol we have in quantity is dry vermouth, which we use for cooking, and kirsch (cherry brandy), which I like to add to fruit desserts. I fill the gaps left by the fruit in the martini glass with vermouth and then spike the drink with kirsch. It's not bad. Not bad at all. ... By the time I've had two of them, it's starting to be the best drink I've ever had. (Even though I think it would probably be a lot better with stone-cold vodka or gin.)

And dissolve: I hear Tim say, "There's a duck on the pond. It's your duck." (Obviously he's not yet clear on his relationship to our ducks.) I run to the window, grabbing the binoculars on the way. Yes, it's Duck. She's on the pond, looking quite content. I'm sure she misses her friends, and she's at risk of ending up as some coyote's lunch, but at least for now she seems healthy, and she is living in Duck Heaven, with the biggest wading pool ever and all the food she can eat.

Come to think of it, maybe the Florita should be made with Cold Duck.

Duck, shortly before she took off.