I was born in January 1953. Why? Because my brother asked for a little brother. Be careful what you wish for. To ease his suffering, our parents bought him a baby duck for Easter 1953. My brother (we'll call him "Stupid") named it Mister Peepers, after a popular TV show (there weren't that many TV shows in 1953) and so it remained until a year later when Mister Peepers laid his first clutch of eggs. Then she became Peepers. It was handy, because every year for twelve years, just before Easter, Peepers laid our Easter eggs. If you knew my mother, you'd know what a grand and wonderful thing this was.
I was around eight when my fourteen year old brother lost all interest in the care and feeding (no litter box!) of his duck. Well, I was a wandering soul, and the path through the woods to the pond had been well beaten down by me by then. I started taking care of Peepers, including taking her for frequent play times in the pond. She had a grand old time eating tadpoles and frolicking in ways she just couldn't in her pen in the far back yard. Of course, when it was time to go back to her pen, she didn't want to go. I would walk around the pond to where she was, and she would swim to the far side. Usually I had to wade in and grab her, but sometimes it was just too cold.
One time, when I heard the dinner bell, I tried two or three times to catch her, to no avail. Finally I decided to come back for her after supper. When I did- she wasn't there! I went home through the woods looking for her, then marshalled my family and friends. We all fanned out, looking for a white duck in dark woods. When we gave up and came home, she was there in the back yard, heading home to bed.
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