The Artist As A Muscovy Duck

A car passed on the very last stretch of road between here and a kind of wilderness. Trees crisscrossed above my head and nature oozed like sap from the sides of the hill. I was with the Artist's Parents' dog. Hang on a moment, I thought. What's that movement ahead? Whatever it was, it was parked in the middle of the road like the roadkill that got away. Just then, the car stopped and out stepped a man. He walked towards it. I didn't know if I should start walking backwards or not. It was, in fact, a Muscovy duck, though it looked more like a bald-headed eagle with a wig. In seconds, it took to the air, missing my head by only a few feet. The owner chased after it, mocking it, taunting it, angry with it - understandably frustrated - but most of all ridiculing it. 'It's a bloody pet,' he said. 'I got three of them. It's a Muscovy duck. Yuck. Mad it is. Mad as a brush.' Then he said something incorrect: 'From Russia it is.' (I since learned that Muscovys - note the ease of vernacular - were non-migratory Native Americans and had already been domesticated by various Native American cultures before Columbus arrived. Only after 1550 did the Muscovy Company, also known as the Muscovite Company, begin shipping them to Europe.) Anyway, I saw it again later. Yes, a second time. It was just standing there, alone, unclaimed, among the leaves of a tall bush. 'Do you like ducks then?' it said. As you can imagine, I was genuinely taken aback. It's not every day a duck will speak to you like that. I must say, it looked annoyed, though not with me. It looked angered with its ridiculing owner, who by now had disappeared. 'It's just that you'd like what Daffy Duck said if you like ducks,' it said. I looked at it again, shook my head, in continued disbelief. 'Go on then,' I said: 'What did Daffy Duck say then?' The Muscovy duck stood straight and without a flicker of mockery said: 'Ridicule is the burden of genius.'