Beebeh

Feathered Fellas

Today was on its way to quickly becoming a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day. Summer, with all its heat and humidity, showed up.

And guess what else?

A Pateros duckling that Mum bought on a whim at the talipapa wet market.

He was a scrawny little thing, flapping his wings and squawking as he stalked about importantly on squat, bow legged feet. 

At first sight, I already knew that as far as days went, today would rank up with other life changing events in my life because... well, I'll tell ya.

I knew that he existed to ultimately reign supreme in the household, being the latest whimsy of a pet for my spoiled youngest sibling.

Truth. 

When I was in a better mood, Beebeh, for that was what we decided to call him (it was the vernacular for duck), seemed to be quite cute. 

Softly emitting shrill high-pitched sounds, he sometimes danced around me so closely that I could see his brown eyes and the curve of his blue-gray beak. Except for the crown and nape which were black, the rest of his body was fluffy, light yellow. Beebeh was so diminutive that when he tugged at foraged worms and slugs or pecked on the cracked corn from the wooden feeder, all that I could see were the curly feathers on top of his tail.

But cuteness didn't work for me. He drove me crazy.

Every.Single.Day.

I could have sworn he was my buddy when I left for Roxas High in the morning, so I couldn't understand how he would turn devilish by the time I got back home. As soon as I opened the gate, who do you suppose was watching behind the adelfa bush?

The rascal.

I could see him cocking his head, examining me with one eye and then the next. Then, he would launch himself into the air, landing with a thud by my feet, and would start to chase me to the worn stone pathway leading to the house. Even old dog Voltaire, who was napping on the bottom step of the stairs, looked puzzled whenever this happened.

Of course, I ran and once inside, I would give him a tauntingly victorious grin. Pecking at a piece of rotting pandesal bread on the ground, he would feign an expression of utter nonchalance toward his failed chase. It was all a game to this eccentric creature.  

I’m not overstating it. Not even a little. He was silly, definitely daffy, and was the bane of my life.

Now that he's gone, all has been back to normal. 

I’ve imagined what this moment would be like. Maybe I’d jump up and down a bit, cheer, or even flip off the ground, but that hasn’t happened.

I stand by. Waiting.

Where's the imp who chased at my feet? 

Where's the mischief-maker who poked around in the grass at dusk?

Why can't I hear the indignant clucking of someone being shooed into the coop at night?

Meh.

I’m not here to indulge in nostalgia. All I need is to do a control-Z and get a fresh outlook.

It has fallen quiet for the night. There are no peeping sounds, just the rumble of passing Marikina buses. My head is heavy, my eyelids, too, so I lie down on the pillow and close my eyes.

The pinkish-orange glow on the horizon has highlighted a smattering of clouds, but that will change soon enough. Rain is coming my way.

I’ve dozed off in spite of myself.