A Visit with Elvis

I read somewhere that Muscovy ducks have a life span of about three to maybe five years. This then leads me to be extra delighted when I visit The Park and find Elvis safe and sound, since I've been visiting him at The Park for about 5 years already. I've written much about Elvis on this blog, but if you haven't read it, CLICK HERE to get your introduction.

I've said his world is small, and, I imagine, relatively simple. I find inspiration in that. He is free to go where he wants, and while there is a big lake, an island or two and several forested areas he could visit, he chooses to stay on or at the edge of the reflection pond at the entrance of The Park.

I get warm fuzzies when I see him, alone or with a rotating group of 1-3 feathered mates that roll with him. He's alive and well after all this time and his black pompadour still looks fabulous (hence the name...). 

This day he was on his own, which delighted me. I always could call him over and he'd eat from my hand, but it's much nicer when it's just us two, and he doesn't have to compete with the others in his gang.


I sit, and he rests on the water, occasionally using a back webbed foot to stabilize his position, and we commune. Sometimes he gets out and stands on the side, eyeing me at first for a couple of bites, then fully trusting. There is nothing better than just being quiet with an animal, being respectful that they have allowed you to be close to them, within their territory.

After awhile, he, or I, decide to go on our way. Until the next time.  And so far, there always has been a next time.

Bye-bye Elvis... for now.

Heeeere Elvissss

Yep Elvis.

He's still around.

My Elvis at least. Living in the reflection pond at The Park.

I read somewhere that muscovy ducks live about 3-4 years, but it's been over 4 years since I first admired Elvis' fabulous jet black pompadour and the perfect, red, stitch- like adornment around it... and we became friends.

Over that time I've seen him hang with a changing group of guy ducks, sometimes one, sometimes three others. Once in awhile, he comes over to me and we have some time alone. I like that time.

I'll talk to him as he paddles steadily toward me, and hold out a piece of bread.

It's never anything less than amazing to commune with an animal. I always feel in my element.

Remember Elvis?

The Muscovy duck I named Elvis, I mean.

He says hi.

Elvis and His Quackless Buds

I'm always delighted to see my boy Elvis when I go to The Park. His world is pretty small. He swims in the long reflection pool, which is the first thing I walk past when I enter the park. Occasionally he's on the grass just across from it, as he has to eat greens, or on the shallow fountain steps that the water rushes over to pour into the pool. He is there often on hot summer nights, so his legs can be in the cooler water, while he sleeps standing up. The rest of the time he perches on the cement ledges on the sides of the pool, to groom and preen and settle his fat fluffy self down for a rest.

I think I've known Elvis for about 2 1/2 - 3 years now. It's very comforting to see him there each visit, like when you go home for the holidays and see that things haven't changed. Over that time I've seen him hanging with different pals - or should I say they hang with him, because he remains the constant, and the other players shift. For a few months last fall I saw him alone. But recently he's been hanging with two red faced Muscovy's and a teenager whose feathers were mostly irridescent green and black. That teen is now almost fully grown and red faced himself (Elvis is rare in that his facial skin is coal black, just like his pompadour)... and I noticed, as you might below, that it seems like the teen (in the middle, the bird I start the clip with) is the most anxious for food of the four.



Aaah youth. The young green former teen was amusing me to no end as he opened his mouth and did his hoarse whisper in his excitement over food. Muscovy's are actually called quacklesss ducks, as indeed, the only sound they make is the hissing noise you could hear if I weren't babbling incessantly over it while filming. Maybe if you play it back once more you can pick it up.

OK, listening back to this I hope I don't sound like the crazy duck lady or something. I'm a former big city celebrity stylist. I do not wear a bubushka and push around an abandoned grocery cart, with only birds for friends. Just sayin'

What saddened me a little was to see that Elvis seems to have been reduced to the bottom of the pecking order. While the young guy in the middle was most aggressive, the other two red faced ducks were on each side of him, getting their share... while Elvis drifted in the background. He knows I will throw some to him, in fact, I try not to obviously favor him (even though I do). I've seen this hovering behavior from ducks before... one who is interested in food but is not part of the gang I'm feeding. But there you often see the order play out as one or two in the gang will chase the hoverer away once I throw a morsel in his direction, even if there is plenty for all. And it seemed that when I threw to Elvis the young buck wasn't happy about it, and Elvis discreetly swam away a little. It made me wonder if Elvis was getting old, and losing his mojo.

I don't know how long ducks actually live. Wikipedia (which we treat as accurate but technically may not be) says 10-20 years but THIS ARTICLE says 7-8. I have also read 3-4. Certainly in this park, there is more protection than out in the wild, so he should make the higher end of estimates. The great circle of life is evident here, just like it is for us... Muscovy's are a hearty bird and have few health issues so I think he'll be around for a long time. Especially if I have anything to do with it.

Chasing Elvis

Last week I passed by Elvis on my way out of the park. He was standing opposite of me, on the ledge smack dab in the middle of the reflection pond. To get to him I'd have to go a long way whether I walked right or left, so I called for him to come over. I waved a piece of bread his way, singing, "Elvis! Ellllllvis!"

He immediately started for the water, but teetered, hemmed and hawed. As I continued to gesture, he tried in earnest to jump but something was off. I finally said, "Elvis, you're a DUCK. Get in the water already." He did.

When he got close I did a visual check: eyes bright, attentive, no problem swimming, body robust, feathers all good, and an appetite.

So I fed him and left.

Yesterday I returned, just to see if he was OK. He was standing in the shallows on the steps of the falls, the water flowing over his feet. I'd never seen him do this before (Elvis's world is small, and he's a creature of habit), and when I called, he didn't react.

Though I failed at all neighborhood sports back in the day, I do have a great throwing arm. I hurled pieces of bread all the way to him. If they landed close by, he wouldn't budge, but if I got them within pecking range he ate. Once those were gone, he gazed at the rest. He lifted one foot up but when he went to place it he pulled back as if he were testing a fire. After three or four attempts he finally took a step but very quickly shifted his weight to the other leg. Elvis was clearly limping.

Maternal instincts ablaze, I put down my bag and waded in. He was a little nervous (a reminder he isn't fully tame) so I took it slow, squatting to reduce my size. His leg didn't look swollen, and I couldn't see any cuts or lumps. I'd once seen the undersides of his webs and was surprised to see thick greyish pink pads of skin, much like a cat or dog. Maybe he'd gotten a gash and was standing here to soak it.

I reviewed my options with a frown. Do I call the park offices, the SPCA, take him to a vet on my own? And then there's the moral quandry: If I get involved, will that be worse for Elvis? Sometimes when we humans intervene, it's not always best. I don't claim to know how to tell that, but this is where the respect of nature's course comes in (we oft think that means letting an animal die but nature can also heal). I decided to let him be for the night. If it got worse, I'd call the zoo for advice.

The next day I saw Elvis through our telescope, hanging with a his buds on the side of the pool. It looked like he was walking more easily.I later went down there just to make sure.By that time he was being chased by a little boy and running quite well. Sigh.

He's Safe!

Because tropical storm Edouard was headed toward Houston I went to the park so I could feed Elvis. I wasn't feeling so hot, but with a potential hurricane on it's way, and seeing Elvis standing alone on the gravel path from the telescope in our window, I went. I didn't even want to think about Mr. Goose but I couldn't help going to the edge of the water to at least look across to where he usually stands. Lo and behold, I saw a lone Chinese goose, floating in the lake.My heart leapt though my mind tried to keep my feelings in check. Could it be him??? My eyes darted around to find the orange beaked goose (Because the orange beak's partner and Mr. Goose look so much alike, and thosse two new ones are never far apart). Test #1 passed --  he was solo. Then I squinted way across to where I'd been Saturday and made out what appeared to be two geese. Thankfully they're easy to spot by size.  Then, as if the gods were patting me on the shoulder, at that very moment I heard the pair trumpet from that distance, and I knew I had Mr. Goose in front of me!

I only had grain left, but held it out and called, hoping he'd come... Sure enough he did, gliding slowly, raising his beak and trembling the way he always does.

Then he lowered his grand head and gobbled from my palm. Once he was that close I checked for his distinguishing marks -- a rim of yellow on his "eyelids" and a line of white where the ridge of his black knob meets his forehead. The new black beaked goose doesn't have those.
Oh Mr. Goose, Mr Goose! Isn't he glorious?

I try not to get too attached. Early on, as I'd see little ducklings disappear each day or happen upon a dying bird, I told myself that if I were going to be a part of this, I had to respect that nature takes it's course. But to have such direct interaction with an animal as compelling as this for the last 2 years IS in fact a relationship. And to suddenly find he and Mrs. Goose both gone without a trace, at a time of year that could not be explained by mating or migration, wasn't so easy to accept.

My heart just sang yesterday to see him at last.

This is Elvis

A Muscovy duck who lives in the reflection pond at The Park. I named him Elvis for obvious reasons. He has a slicked back, jet black pompadour. And while red globby knobs of flesh are a part of all Muscovy faces, Elvis' face is smooth and black, save for these perfectly symmetrical, dashing red accent caruncles framing his 'do. They remind me of a type of stitching commonly adorning 50's style clothing, so I admire that he's consistent, stylistically speaking.

What I love about Elvis is that he comes running when he sees me, with his big black webbed feet slapping on the cement along the water's edge. He's adorably bow legged so his big body wobbles from side to side as he does this, like a ship being tossed about in a storm. (Truth be told, he probably recognizes the bread bag and not me, but my heart just swells to bursting when I see him perk up and race toward me).

I've been feeling pooped and blue after returning home from yet another memorial for my father, on the heels of a long, emotional week... only to get a voicemail that a friend who I'd just spoken to before I left had passed away. That was kind of the straw that broke me in the marathon of life events I seem to have been running. I was listless, exhausted, too tired to exercise, shower, or even to lay down and too restless to read, write e-mail or watch TV. My husband said, why don't you go to the park to feed your ducks, which sounded good but seemed impossible. I looked out at the pond through our telescope and saw Elvis, the wood duck couple and the gang of mallards who are the regulars there and it was enough for me to grab some bread and my keys. I drove the three blocks to get there. Yes, I drove instead of walked - I was that bad off. But it worked wonders to restore my spirit.

Usually Elvis hangs with two other Muscovy guys, clearly their leader, but this time he was by himself. Thanks to summer solstice, the day was only just fading at 8 PM. The light was very calming and almost no one was in the park. It was very peaceful to just spend time with him, one on one. I sat at the edge of the pool. He got very close and ate one piece at a time from my fingers. The bread was soft so I got to see his long pink tongue help to squinch it down to his throat. When he was ready for another piece he'd turn his beak back to me and gobble what I offered.

What really blew me away was our eye contact. He looked directly at me the entire time, and I could see he picked up on my trustworthiness (there are a lot of kids who throw rocks and chase these birds during the day). We communicated silently, back and forth until 2 1/2 pieces of bread were consumed. He swallowed with some difficulty for a minute, then took 3 steps over to the edge and, gripping solidly with feet that now looked more like hands than flippers, leaned toward the water. He'd collect a few drops with the end of his bill and raise his head up so it would roll down his throat, his head bobbing a little to help.

After several delicate little sips he settled in to grooming himself (a nightly ritual), digging deep into this feathers on his chest, under his leg, behind his large wings, nipping here and there.

I sat very still next to him and observed, feeling privileged to be so close to this wild bird. And my malaise was no more.