A Duck Story
I raised Sqicky from a little duckling. He followed me like a dog and came when I called him. He ate from my hand. I gave him baths in an old wash tub and he enjoyed playing in the water. He was my love and he made life bearable in an abusive household. I
talked to him about everything I thought and felt. He grew up to be a beautiful white duck from a little yellow duckling. He lived in the back yard and had full run of the back yard. He had a house I build for him to go into at night. I came home from school one day and he wasn't there.
I looked everywhere for him but could not find him. I went into the house and someything
was baking in the oven. I figured it out. It was Sqicky. My older brother talked my step mother into cooking him.
I freaked out and called them all cannibals and told my stepmother I wish she'd die!
I didn't eat a bite that night for supper. I cried for days over the death and cannibalization of my duck sqicky. This was one of
many sad moments I spent as a child with these people. I left home when I got old enough and never went back.
