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By Root 539 0

people and dog people, I think there are chicken people and there are duck people. We soon figured out that we were chicken people. A hen might one day take it into her tiny skull to climb a tree all by herself to see what’s on the other side of the fence. Or she might become so fixated on plucking every last centipede from under the woodpile that she loses track of her companions. Chickens squabble. Chickens have pet projects. Chickens have minds of their own, however small. Not so the ducks, who waddled in lockstep formation around the yard, wing to wing, all day, every day, muttering. They were like Hare Krishnas, always chanting in a gang. And they started their chanting just before dawn. I would lie there in the dark, listening to them.

“Those ducks are not right,” Mark said one morning as we lay in bed. I had thought he was asleep.

“It’s like in Rosemary’s Baby when she hears the devil worshippers in the apartment next door.”

“Do you think they’re harassing the chickens?”

“Probably.”

“I guess it’s better than having a dog,” said Mark, rolling out of bed.

“I don’t want you to remind me of this because I’ll take it all back later,” I said, getting up to join him, “but sometimes I hate having animals.”

One day I heard a hen shrieking and ran outside to find two of the ducks jabbing at her with their blunt bills. It would have been pathetic, like stabbing someone with a butter knife, but the ducks were working as a team. A few days later, I caught them attacking another hen, but they had now figured out how to use their bills like clamps and had grabbed her neck feathers and were shaking her.

“Just say the word and I’ll drive them out to the woods and leave them there,” Mark said.

“We can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“A raccoon will just eat them. It would be inhumane.”

“We’re going to keep them forever?” said Mark.

“We could put an ad on Craigslist, I guess.”

We did. No one answered. A week later we posted the ad again and received a single reply. Apparently, only one person in all of Northern California wanted to adopt our “chatty gang of flightless ducks.” We did not ask what this person intended to do with them.

A few days later, Owen and Mark took the ducks in a box down to the Safeway parking lot to meet their new owners. Twenty minutes later, with an empty box and downcast expressions, the two of them returned.

“I have no idea if we just gave them over to some satanic cult,” Mark said. “I have no idea about those people. They had stringy hair and they say they keep their ducks in a hot tub.”

“They were teenagers,” said Owen contemptuously.

“A hot tub,” said Mark.

We did not miss their chanting or the screams of the hens or the fetid baby pool, but I still feel guilty when I think about those weird, helpless ducks. And I miss those big orange-yolked eggs.

DUCK EGG RAVIOLI

This glamorous dish is broadly adapted from Ethan Stowell’s New Italian Kitchen. The egg yolks poach inside the ravioli and glow golden through the gossamer skin. When you break them, they meld with the Parmesan and butter to form a rich sauce. It’s almost worth keeping ducks just so you can make this, though chicken eggs will also work.

1 bunch asparagus, as skinny as you can find

4 tablespoons (½ stick) unsalted butter

1 garlic clove, minced

Kosher salt

1½ cups ricotta, homemade or best-quality store-bought

1 teaspoon sweet smoked paprika

1 recipe pasta

All-purpose flour, for dusting the work surface

12 to 14 duck egg yolks

Grated Parmesan cheese, for serving

1. First, prepare the asparagus. Snap off the tough stems at the natural breaking point. Finely slice the asparagus, leaving a few of the delicate buds intact.

2. Melt the butter in a skillet and add the garlic, cooking until it softens. Add the asparagus and cook over medium heat for 5 to 10 minutes, until just tender. Salt to taste.

3. In a medium bowl, mix the asparagus with the ricotta and smoked paprika. Taste again. It should be gently spicy and salted to your taste.

4. Using a machine, roll out the dough