Henry the Duck (not Howard)
A work of fiction by Michael Trump
The storm clouds rolled in from the northeast just as the sun began to set into the hills; they hadn’t yet started to release their heavy burden upon the dry yard. Henry’s feathers on the back of his head fluffed out just a bit as the ionized air passed through the yard and across his bill. He could smell the electricity coming in with the storm but didn’t understand its meaning. Henry had seen rain clouds before, but never had he seen everything in the yard change such color before; it was as if the sun was still shining bright, but everything took on a golden glow. The stream that Henry called home was starting to pick up current because it was already raining somewhere north of his favorite spot. Henry could see the blackness in the sky above; he could feel the air temperature quickly cooling down, and he made up his mind to find higher ground before the clouds let loose.
He began to move water with his webbed feet gently guiding himself to the stream’s bank; his humans were coming out of their favorite spot bathed in their bright yellow light that always had so many flying bugs that the bats just loved. The humans were calling for him; Henry loved when they called his name, and to show them he was hearing them, he would wag his tail feathers, fluff his head crest and talk back to them in long drawn out quacks. The taller of the two humans had his long arm and hand covering part of his face looking at the clouds overhead, while the shorter one came towards Henry. Now Henry knew this was no time to play tag, but if the humans wanted to play, he would entertain them, he turned right around and swam for the middle of the stream wagging his tail the whole way. Henry knew they loved this game, the short human would stand on one side of the creek, and the taller one would cross the little bridge at Henry’s favorite spot so he could stand on the other side of the stream. Both humans would wave their arms all around like they were trying to fly and dance until Henry quacked up laughing. Well, Henry was right because that is precisely what they did this time too. To Henry’s surprise and overwhelming joy, the taller human came down into the stream after him. “They really want to play tag.” He thought to himself. Henry began to swim downstream away from his humans, tail feathers going left to right as fast as he could move them. Henry didn’t want his two friends to lose sight of him, so he didn’t swim anywhere near as soon as possible, but he tried to stay just out of reach. Henry must have gotten to far ahead of them this, though, because both of his humans turned away and headed towards their favorite spot, leaving him alone. The little duck squawked and squawked, but the humans didn’t turn around. The shorter human looked back at Henry when she got to the hole to her favorite spot. She sat down and looked at him awhile before the taller human came back out, and they both went in. He next knew he would have to swim slower since humans never paid attention for very long, and he liked this game.
Henry floated in the middle of the stream, cutting water a little more than usual to maintain his location when the first raindrop struck him. This raindrop was the biggest raindrop he had ever witnessed in his short ten-month life; it was so big that when it struck his beak, his entire head slammed down to the water that he floats upon aimlessly. This first raindrop triggers a rapid flight or fight response in Henry, and he swam as fast to the grass line as possible. The humans closed the hole to their favorite spot and could not hear him calling for them as he lifted himself onto the bright green grass. More raindrops started to fall, and for a short time, as they hit the water in the stream, he could recognize each sound from each drop and see the water from the stream reach for the sky after each impact. Henry wondered if the stream felt the raindrops the same way he felt the rains, and that was why the stream reached up for the sky every time a drop would hit the water.
Henry thought the stream would soon be angry with the rain because every time it rains in the yard, the stream gets mad and turns from blue to brown, makes a lot of noise, and carries around sticks like his little humans do when they attack each other. The stream does this until the rain goes away, and Henry always waits until the water calms down before going back in, to swim and chase fish.
It was almost completely dark out now, and Henry thought, while he waddled away from the stream, how the fish love playing chase. First, they nibble on his webbed feet, and then he chases them underwater until he has to come up for air. He could play that game all day if it didn’t make him so hungry. Henry once thought if he ever caught one of those fish, he would like to eat it to see if he wouldn’t be so hungry after so much playtime.
Next to where the humans’ hole is, there is a bush so thick with leaves that Henry had never gotten wet from the rain while under it. He waddled up to this bush, crouched under the low hanging branches, and made his way to his second favorite spot. Henry also used this spot when the owl was out and about looking for mice and chipmunks. The owl once told Henry (just after landing right next to him, almost causing Henry to have a stroke from fear) that he would never consider eating him because he was too big and would rather just be Henry’s friend, but Henry didn’t know if the owl was telling the truth or not. He could feel those big eyes looking at him some nights and would leave the water to sleep under this bush. The rain was coming down now, and the stream started to rumble much louder than this little duck had ever heard. The sun had only gone down just a short while ago, but Henry couldn’t see the river from his bush anymore. It was so dark out now, and the raindrops were so many that Henry knew he would have to stay right where he was through the whole night.
The yard lit up like the middle of the day, just for a second, then it was dark again. Henry thought that was strange just before the thunder followed so loud it shook his guts. He was scared, more scared than ever; he didn’t know that sound. Henry started calling for his humans but was too frightened to move. He called for them as loud as he could from under the dry bush, then the sky and yard lit up again like the day, and Henry could see the stream from his second favorite spot. The water was now high above the bank and turning white where it was reaching for the sky; then blackness again. The thunder came too, much sooner this time, and again rattled Henry’s guts. He started to pant with terror. He knew that he had to get to the humans’ hole so they could take him into their favorite place too.
Henry knew he would be safe with them. There was light again, but it was yellow this time, yellow like his humans light. Yes! It was the short human, and she was calling for him! Henry started to stand up when the bright light and thunder came at the same time! It was so overwhelming that the short human screamed and closed the way into the human’s favorite spot! The yellow light went out and did all the light from the human’s favorite place. The humans usually did this every night when they went to sleep. Henry knew they went to sleep when they did this because when the humans’ dog bit his foot, he stayed two weeks in their white pond next to another smaller white pond that they pooped in. Presently Henry thought to himself, “how can they sleep with all this scary thunder out here!” He stuck his head out from under the bush to look up at the human’s hole, and it was dark as could be, he could also smell smoke from the humans’ campfire. He knew there was no campfire today, and before he could think about it anymore, the sky lit up the thunder that struck his guts, and he hid back under the bush! Henry lay there panting, knowing that he needed to move somewhere away from the stream the was now so mad at the sky and rain that it had come closer to Henry’s bush! He had to move! He had to hide!
Henry had a third favorite place, and it was way at the top of the hill from Henry’s first choice place. Chickens lived there, and the humans always kept them dry and well-fed. Henry wasn’t sure if he would be dry there, but he knew the chickens would tell him stories and all the gossip of the coop. He knew he wouldn’t be near his humans, but he wouldn’t be so alone and scared. Henry had to make a decision soon; the stream had risen to just a few meters from his bush and looked as if it would continue to rise. The chickens would keep him safe; he was sure of it.
Henry made a run for it so fast he needed his wings straight out to his side for balance. He moved his wings up and down in the rain, and he ran. Just as he turned the first corner of the humans’ favorite place, the grass, the trees, and the rain pulsated red, and a long honking sound like a broken duck followed then was gone. Henry reached the bottom of the steep hill, and the sky changed colors again; this time red and blue pulsed all about and the noise that followed was more like that hawk that landed next to him a few weeks back “just to chat” Henry didn’t trust that guy either and stuck to his bush when he could see him circling in the sky from time to time. Those lights also passed, and Henry never stopped moving until he got to his third favorite spot. His snow-white feathers were now a muddy brown. He had dirt and water under his wings and knew it would take nothing less than a bath in the stream to clean himself to perfection, but he was now safe with the chickens.
The chickens were happy to see Henry, and they all started talking to him at once. Henry walked around the chickens’ place looking for a dry spot to sit, he found it on the side that was away from the human’s favorite spot, and it worried him that he was now far away from his humans and he couldn’t see if they came outside looking for him either. He sat down and listened as the chickens told him all about the day’s events. The sky lit up, and the thunder shook him, and this time it wasn’t so bad. Henry chuckled a little bit when all the chickens squawked out loud, and one of them said she laid an egg; she was so scared. The chickens talked, and he closed his eyes to sleep. The storm continued for some time, but Henry lost all fear of it, he awoke to a clear sky and could see so many little lights in the sky that he thought it was an excellent time to make his way down to his favorite spot. Mama chicken was still talking to him, and he was sure she spoke to him the entire time he slept. Henry took his time squishing his way through the grass down the hill when he got to the stream’s edge he saw his favorite spot was still underwater.
He sipped water from the bank, filtering out the grit, letting the sweet, sweet water fill his insides. Henry knew the stream scared off the light and thunder; he also knew he would have to wait until morning before he would be able to get into the water, so he headed to the next best place; his bush. Henry was about halfway to the bush when the inside lights of his human’s place came on; he could hear a buzzing sound, and the yellow glow came on from the light at their hole. Henry’s feathers fluffed with joy, two more steps.
“Hello, my friend.” Came a voice from the bridge.
Henry turned, and all his feathers expanded, and he tried to make himself look as large as he could. His humans would be coming outside soon. They always come out after the yellow light comes on. The creature on the bridge looked like the humans’ dog, but all its features seemed to come to points. Pointy ears, pointy nose, point tail, and even its eyes seemed pointy.
“Who are you?” Said, Henry.
“My name is S.L.Y. Fox.” The fox said clear and slow. “And who are you?”
“I am Henry the Duck. My humans will be out soon, and they don’t like strangers,” Henry said bravely. “The tall one once used a noise stick on a coyote. It’s buried over there.”
“Then, I’ll make this quick.”
The long slender fox seemed to glide through the air as it moved toward Henry. His eyes looked at Henry in the same manner that the owl had seen him the first time they met. His speed was as fast as the hawks that day he stopped in for a chat. Even though he could see the fox moving fast. He saw it in slow motion. He was frozen in place. Henry hardly had a chance to turn when S.L.Y. Fox was upon him. Sinking his pearl white teeth into the tender flesh hidden under so many feathers. White feathers that protected his neck from water and cold. White feathers now turning dark red. Henry felt the teeth enter into his neck. He felt the fox release for just a second before clamping down again. “Probably to readjust his hold,” Henry thought for no good reason. Henry tried to flap his wings. He tried to call out for his humans. Their yellow light was on. They should be outside with him. They should be here helping him. He beat his wings against the fox with all he had. S.L.Y. Fox shook his head with such violence that Henry’s neck snapped. His wings and feet continued to struggle against the fox’s grip. S.L.Y. dropped the duck on to the wet ground and placed a massive paw on the duck’s breast. As Henry’s body stopped moving, the fox said, “Well, that didn’t take long, did it?” The fox picked up the limp wet duck and began a slow trot towards the woods at the bottom on the hill.
Some time passed, and the sky began to lighten; the front door of the young families home opened, and a little tired eyed girl stepped outside. Henry’s feathers glowed in the yellow lamplight as the little girl wiped the sleep from his eyes. Overwhelming dread rose inside her pushing out a scream so powerful her father was between her and whatever was causing the panic faster than a human eye blink. He held her back and scanned the yard for danger; his eyes narrowed on the pile of feathers. He knew why his daughter was crying and scooped her up in his arms, then he brought her back inside. The short human, the little girl’s mom, stepped outside to see what the father had said not to look at. She, too, began to cry and came back inside. The father set his little girl in her mom’s arms; he ran to his bedroom closet, took a small 22 rifle out of its lockbox, and jammed a five-round magazine into the gun’s bottom. He ran for the front door, knowing that there was no way whatever killed his duck would still be around. The tall human stepped down off the front porch and chambered a round. The feathers were in a pile between the porch and stream. There were a few more here and there, heading for the woods. He could hear his little girl crying, and he started for the woods. The tall man trampled around the woods for sometime before his wife called for him. The tall man needed to leave for work and could not pursue the predator any longer.
S.L.Y. Fox lay hidden under a log that the tall man passed over many times before his female called for him. He took shelter just little ways into the woods when a giant of an owl had swooped in from behind and tore a tuft of hair from the fox’s neck. S.L.Y. even thought to himself that he might have been lifted off the ground just a little before his neck hair came loose. He dropped the duck and took cover just as the owl came at him a second time, missing him, but grabbing the duck ever so gently before flying away without making a sound.
The hallow under the fallen tree was deep and dark, providing the perfect cover for Mr. Fox. The fox lay there hidden for hours knowing that at any time, the tall man could come back to use his bang stick on him; for some reason, he just knew that owl was watching for him. Even though he could not see the duck he so perfectly dispatched, he could still smell where the was, and it was starting to wear on him. The sun was high in the sky before hunger took over, and the fox slipped out from the log. S.L.Y. took in his surroundings wary of danger, but hunger robbed him of his ability to care.
The fox took two steps and stumbled to the ground nose-first. Before he knew why he fell, he heard the same thunderous noise as that night but with a little more tree branch snapping sound to it. S.L.Y Fox was startled and tried to stand so he could flee from this danger, but blood poured from his leg. The pain began to overtake the beast as he took a hobbled step; he could hear the female calling out and then nothing. Darkness came over the fox as the sun shined down on his warm blood, dampened fur.
The short human stood alone on the porch after her mate left for work. She was sipping an Irish breakfast tea, scanning the woods for the creature that took Henry. Her husband’s rifle next to her while she leaned on the wooden railing. The sun was extra bright this late morning, and she could see the water vapor rising off the ground. The sun shone through the mist, creating little effects like a stage light shining down on an empty stage waiting for its actors. Presently two glowing red ears rose from behind a fallen tree, she sat down her hot cup and positioned the rifle in such a way that the railing steadied her aim. The fox was moving slowly, and she leveled the gun as to make a shot between the fox’s ears. One step, she could see the whole head; two steps, she could see the front half of the fox head to toe. The duck murderer started to take its slow third step, and she squeezed the trigger. Though not very loud, the shot startled her, and that was enough to cause her to bump her tea, sending in crashing to the ground as she tried to see if she had made a successful kill. The hot tea burned her leg, and she cried out with a slew of curses just as she chambered a new round. The fox rose again, and as she cursed aloud in pain, the second shot made its mark right between the ears. The fox rolled heels over head landing on its side, tail spinning like a helicopter for just a couple seconds before laying down across the fox’s legs.
The woman, confident in her shot, ran inside to rinse her calf in cold water before changing into clothes that could be disposed of if blood had gotten on them while dragging out the fox. She called her husband to tell him of her kill and plan to drag it from the woods. She then called anyone who would listen to her excitement before walking back outside to examine her kill. The porch door opened, a perfect beam of sunlight shown through the woods where the fox lay, and to her astonishment, a large hawk stood on the fox and pulled meat from inside the wound she had made. She thought how fitting it was that the hunter became the prey. The short woman not wanting to disturb the hawk stepped to the edge of her porch to retrieve her unbroken cup, seeing partly over the porch, her eyes filled with tears blinding her to Henry’s corpse. A couple deep breathes, and she cleared her eyes, looking again to where the fox lay where now an owl had joined in on the free meal.
We will miss you, Howard, rest in peace, buddy.
Michael Trump 