There has been a goose carried in a bag, baskets of chickens and ducks, a cage of ducks, a roaming chicken on an ancient street, and a chicken on a far more recently built sidewalk. To conclude this recent series of fowl posts, I couldn't do any better than a return to the duck with an inscrutable stare.
Three days after first encountering the duck, I returned to the same location. I didn't see it around the same store as before, so I walked to a neighboring area where several people were shelling a large amount of oysters. There amongst the empty oyster shells I spotted the formidable duck.
Like before, the duck saw me. Unlike the timid chicken nearby, the duck was ready for confrontation. Immediately following us making eye contact, the duck marched straight towards me with the determination only a mad duck on a mission can have.
In other words, it did briefly stop midway to check out something of interest on the ground.
Now much closer, the duck hissed at me and then settled into position just a few feet away where it ruffled its feathers.
Then it moved to another nearby location, and I dared to get a little closer. The duck gave me a look indicating I was lucky it wasn't more like some of its dinosaur relatives.
A powerful display of wing flapping followed.
My expertise in duck identification and behavior, based upon skimming a few webpages, leads me to conclude the duck, likely of a non-quacking variety, was defending its territory.
Fortunate for my physical well-being, things did not escalate further. In fact, after the displays of might, the duck switched to the seemingly nonthreatening act of preening itself, even when I was close enough to touch it.
I felt like a barrier had fallen. Perhaps I had gained the duck's acceptance. Or maybe the duck felt it had sufficiently made its point.
Since I didn't expect to return to this location in the near future, if ever, I assumed this would be my last opportunity to spend time with the impressive duck — now my favorite in Xiapu. I wished the moment could last longer, but, alas, I soon had to bid farewell.
The duck didn't shed a single tear.
Three days after first encountering the duck, I returned to the same location. I didn't see it around the same store as before, so I walked to a neighboring area where several people were shelling a large amount of oysters. There amongst the empty oyster shells I spotted the formidable duck.
Like before, the duck saw me. Unlike the timid chicken nearby, the duck was ready for confrontation. Immediately following us making eye contact, the duck marched straight towards me with the determination only a mad duck on a mission can have.
In other words, it did briefly stop midway to check out something of interest on the ground.
Now much closer, the duck hissed at me and then settled into position just a few feet away where it ruffled its feathers.
Then it moved to another nearby location, and I dared to get a little closer. The duck gave me a look indicating I was lucky it wasn't more like some of its dinosaur relatives.
A powerful display of wing flapping followed.
My expertise in duck identification and behavior, based upon skimming a few webpages, leads me to conclude the duck, likely of a non-quacking variety, was defending its territory.
Fortunate for my physical well-being, things did not escalate further. In fact, after the displays of might, the duck switched to the seemingly nonthreatening act of preening itself, even when I was close enough to touch it.
I felt like a barrier had fallen. Perhaps I had gained the duck's acceptance. Or maybe the duck felt it had sufficiently made its point.
Since I didn't expect to return to this location in the near future, if ever, I assumed this would be my last opportunity to spend time with the impressive duck — now my favorite in Xiapu. I wished the moment could last longer, but, alas, I soon had to bid farewell.
The duck didn't shed a single tear.
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