I can never do anything right. The thought, coupled with a sinking feeling in my chest, creates a knockout in just two punches.
And by knock out, I mean; my mind goes blank, I think the worst, and I get frustrated with myself and whoever’s within arm’s length of me.
Everything I said just now reminds me of the helplessness of childhood. What if that’s all it is – a holdout from day’s long past?
If so, I’d prefer to update my programming.
How about when I think that thought in the future, I follow it up with, “You’re doing that thing you do, you silly, nilly, willy. Stop it because you matter. I believe in and love you.” Or something like that.
It’s been a day of tragedy and redemption. The neighbor’s German Shepard killed the large boy duck, Huey. Remember the one that couldn’t fly? While the other three smaller females flew off he met his fate.
With a dead duck and hearing that Muscovy meat is similar to steak, I weighed my options of throwing him in the garbage, burying him in the back, or satisfying my curiosity and finding out how it tastes.
So I called my Dad, the avid duck hunter, and he explained to me step-by-step how to breast out the duck.
Once off the phone, I semi-confidently grabbed a large butcher knife and asked Dave to follow for moral support.
Whatever gruesome dismembering horror story I had in my mind was quickly put to ease, as once past the white down feathers, cutting the dark slabs of breast away from the bone was relatively easy.
Later as it simmered in butter and rosemary, I felt grateful for the duck’s life and said a silent thank you for its being my meal. And I also got my answer; it honestly tastes just like steak!
As of 9:04 pm, none of the other ducks have returned. It’s a bummer, but the life of the urban farmer is just this; filled with bumps and bruises, and it goes on.
Well, time to get some sleep before a 3-day work week and then a vacation to Florida! I hope you had a wonderful day.