As the name implies, Pekin ducks originated in Peking, China.
They are strictly a domesticated breed with ancestry linked to the mallard. They are an exceptionally fast-growing meat bird and place only second to the Khaki Campbell as an egg layer. They are less broody and very poor setters, often leaving the nest before the eggs are due to hatch.
Hatching takes 28 days, and the young are completely covered with yellow down and have the adult characteristics of orange bill and feet. They know how to swim the moment they hit the water.
Adult feathers are of a glossy white and have been used for untold generations as a fluffy stuffing for pillows and comforters. The Chinese treat them as a preferred cuisine, and they are often served on a pedestal platter, giving them the royal ranking they obviously deserve when dressed for devouring.
I have always admired the stature and friendliness of the Pekin duck, although I was not fortunate enough to have any in my possession until very recently, and that came about in a rather unexpected way.
I answered my ringing telephone and after conversing identities, the voice on the other end said, “I have a birdcage for you. My neighbour was throwing it out, and I felt it was in too good a condition to end up in the garbage. A friend of mine, a reader of your column, suggested I give you a call, as you could quite likely put it to good use.” During parting salutations, arrangements were made for me to pick it up a day or two later.
On arrival, a social flock of domestic geese could be heard gabbling as they grazed the short-cropped green grasses nearby while a sizable bunch of white Pekin ducks waddled about our feet when we got out of the car. Large white eggs lay here and there on the lawn, obviously laid during the darkness of the previous night.
On entering the house and commenting on the condition and beauty of the reclaimed cage, I noticed the giver busy doing something at the sink. It turned out that he was cleaning occasional mud smears off of some just gathered large white eggs.
I was soon to learn that he intended to give them to me in appreciation of me picking up the cage to recycle. A dozen were handed to me with the comment, “You can do what you want with them. They are yours.”
I discounted boiling them, poaching them or introducing them to the frying pan as our fridge was already packed with farm-fresh eggs and a wide-topped gallon bottle filled to the top that were pickled. I also had to discount throwing them at passing cars, as my ability to run and hide has waned considerably since my teenage years. So my final decision was to store them, which I did, in my incubator.
That turned out to be not a bad idea. After faithfully turning them three times daily for 28 consecutive days, their cheeping translation was a definite “What are we waiting for? Let’s get to heck out of here!” And they did.
I now have 14 little webbed feet slapping the ground behind me wherever I go, belonging to seven little orange-billed, yellow Pekin ducklings looking up at me with intelligent eyes while peeping their demands each and every step of the way.
When I filled a sunk-in-the-ground kitty litter tray with water, they ignored me to dip and dive and paddle, making their own little ocean waves. They were having fun, and it was fun, too, for me to watch.
If I had a bigger pool, I’d make a few waves of my own. Perhaps I’ll go skinny dipping back at our pond.
If you by chance hear that my voice has suddenly raised a couple of octaves you’ll know that the resident snapping turtle isn’t too kind to digits that dangle.
Take care, ‘cause we care.
barrie@barriehopkins.ca
519-986-4105