The Story of Paul

How one trip to Tractor Supply turned into a duck sleeping in my bedroom.

I place the blame for all of this squarely on Olivia.

We had gone to Tractor Supply for horse feed during that dangerous time of year when they fill the store with impossibly cute ducklings and chicks. Of course she wanted some. I had absolutely no interest in chickens, but I had to admit the little ducks were pretty adorable.

I finally told her, “If you want them, you have to earn them.” She had to research everything about caring for ducks, clean out an old kennel, and turn it into a proper duck home.

I never expected her too actually do it.

She did.

So back to Tractor Supply we went.

We brought home two ducklings. Sadly, one died only a few days later. Ducks are flock animals, so I knew the remaining little guy couldn’t live alone. We searched everywhere for another duck, but every store was sold out. As a temporary solution, we brought home four baby chicks to keep him company since that was the minimum purchase.

We eventually lost two of the chicks, leaving us with two roosters named Salt and Pepper. They were beautiful birds and surprisingly entertaining, but I quickly discovered that ducks have much bigger personalities than I’d ever thought

Eventually we found more ducklings and added four to the flock. Naturally, they became George, John, Paul, and Ringo. Around Oz, even the ducks somehow end up named after The Beatles.

Life settled into a comfortable routine. The ducks and chickens mostly got along, although I eventually had to divide the enclosure because the roosters insisted on pulling feathers from the ducks whenever they had the chance.

Then, almost overnight, everything changed.

One morning I walked outside to find Salt and Pepper dead. I couldn’t understand how anything had gotten into what I thought was a secure enclosure. Before I had time to figure it out, whatever had come the first night came back.

The next morning Paul was the only survivor.

I couldn’t leave him out there alone after that.

So somehow—and this certainly wasn’t part of the original plan—a duck moved into my bedroom.

During the day Paul enjoys his outdoor pen, but every evening he comes inside to sleep. I know it probably sounds ridiculous, but it works for us.

Since losing the others, I’ve decided not to add more ducks right now. Instead, I’m giving Paul the best life I can. I’m digging him a proper pond in his outdoor enclosure and installing a solar pump to keep the water moving and clean. It’s a much better solution than the little kiddie pool we’ve been using.

Ducks are wonderfully messy creatures. They somehow manage to turn clean water into mud within minutes, but they also pack an incredible amount of personality into such a small body.

Paul certainly does.

Every time I’ve practice yoga or belly dance Paul watches with complete fascination. He follows every movement as though he’s trying to understand exactly what strange ritual his human is performing. If I don’t bring him his nightly serving of frozen peas, he lets me know about it—loudly. I’ve offered him plenty of other treats, but he’s convinced frozen peas are the only acceptable evening snack.

He’s also made friends around Oz. More than once I’ve looked in his bed to find Winter stretched out beside him quietly keeping him company.

When we first stopped at Tractor Supply that day, I never imagined a duck would become part of my daily routine—or that I’d be planning ponds, carrying frozen peas through the yard every evening, or explaining to visitors why there’s occasionally a duck in my bedroom.

But that’s life at Oz.