Bernie is Dead...

Dynasty goes dark

Bernie was the smartest of all the ducks. Daughter of the Duke, also named Bernie, who first walked down the royal runway in July 2020 when we were at the nadir, the darkest point imaginable.

The czar of Lake Jackson.

The entire court had made its entrance down the driveway in July 2020, just as we needed them for our survival. Bernie, Lenerd, and Yvonne. We were desperate, with the blackest of spells cast upon us. A darkness had descended and had taken our hearts. Then they came, filled with the certainty of their mission. Not stumbling neither hesitating, led by the czar, Bernie, followed by his manservant, Count Lenerd, and then Yvonne. chip chip ccchip in the puddle left by a rainstorm.

“Winds in the east, there's a mist coming in, like something is brewin' and 'bout to begin.”

They were all three massacred one saddest night just weeks after their arrival. A chaos of feathers. The misdeed of a fox or coyote.

Bernie (the daughter of Bernie) was hatched by middle girl from an egg she had saved from the doomed couple. From the fridge to the toaster, careful to keep the humidity right and the regular turning. The hatchery produced a few miracles and Bernie was one of them.

Bernie’s sister Penny, also from a saved egg, was as dumb as dirt. Always getting into something stupid. Always getting bailed out by her brother Cleopold, the Duke, brother of second Bernie, and the third of five rescued eggs from the originals. Son of Bernie, the czar of Lake Jackson. Penny was very sweet, but yes very stupid. Her wanderings were without thought, without an appreciation of danger. With no self-awareness.

On a May night they wandered into the bayou in the back - before we fenced them - and something attacked Penny from below. We don’t know what it was. Dragged her down briefly under water. As middle girl frantically maneuvered a long stick and some other things to throw at whatever was killing her, I grabbed the canoe and made for Penny, now floating on the water. On the dock, she was not yet obviously dead. Her heart was beating. It may sound odd, but we performed CPR up to when her heart finally stopped. We even breathed air into Penny’s lungs. Despite our best efforts, Penny became lifeless in our arms. Rise and fall, little chest. Rise and… Last breath.

Warmth draining from her body. She stiffened during the night, all alone on the table in the screened porch. I hoped in the morning it was all a bad dream, but it was not.

On the table next day, as plain as mortal sin, Penny lay awaiting her final rest.

Shortly after Penny’s watery slaughter, Cleopold, a fitting specimen to take his father’s role at the helm of the kingdom, fell afoul an enormous owl who had been lurking in the massive oaks in the back. Sitting up there. Biding his time. Glaring down. “Who cooks for you?” A wingspan like mothman. Cleo was suddenly gone and a black hole opened in the empire. This was not supposed to happen to gallant Cleo. A most beautiful bird. Cleo the Duke, son of the czar. A pile of feathers, deadstill.

That left only Bernie, daughter of the czar, offspring of the original winds from the east, and her commoner husband Hildegard, who was purchased from the feed store to add some genetics. Hildegard has always been a coward and a fool. Both original Bernie and his son Cleopold - of noble stock - protected their charges to their last breath. Hildegard has always been only concerned with the wildest and most ghastly pleasures of his unearned alpha position in the household. Anything avian that moves has the full attention of Hildegard, who has proven himself inferior in every way and an embarrassment to the court.

Middle girl overlooked Hildegard’s obvious unsuitability early last year and decided to allow Bernie to roost over her eggs which had been carefully placed in a corner of the duck house oldest son and I built over a number of months. In the meantime, middle girl went back to the hatchery herself and hatched three offspring from that most mixed of “marriages” between royal Bernie and hapless Hildegard.

All of a sudden we found ourselves in a ménage of 13 ducks, as the natural and artificial hatcheries were 100 percent successful. Well…there was one malformed offspring that middle daughter dispatched with as I gasped and looked away.

Bernie showed her true grace and poise as the most caring of mothers to her waddling flock. They spent their first days under her wing, literally, until they could no more fit around brooding mother. Even then, Bernie gathered them around her as they napped frequently under her protection. Nothing came near the ducklings while Bernie was present. And she was always present.

Bernie’s children always looked to her for guidance and anytime they strayed, wandered off course, or fell into stupid situations Bernie would set them straight. She kept a close eye on all of her offspring even as their size (with their father an oaf of a pekin) dwarfed her.

Bernie’s children - who have uncharacteristically not been named - always followed the lead of their mother and attempted to escape their putrid wreck of a father.

I was about to take a walk days ago in a respite of temperate weather when the text came to me, “Bernie is dead.”

“Oh no! It can’t be! What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

I rushed home hoping it was not true. Hoping perhaps there was something overlooked. Some kind of mistake. But no. There in the yard was Bernie, as dead as stone. Her children could not bear to gaze upon her lifeless body. They bunched up in a circle a yard or two from her and occasionally one or the other would steal a glance. They were lost. Confused. Though adult they were rudderless as their mother lie dead before them.

Middle daughter and I brought digging shovels and bore down into the black gumbo soil of Gulf Coast Texas after rain to prepare a final destination for czarina Bernie, the final hope of Bernie (Sr.), Yvonne, and Lenerd (who was a Count at the court and a gentleman in his own right). The winds from the east have calmed now. Widower Hildegard has faded into the pack, fallen down into the nothingness where he belongs. Rudderless and leaderless, the brood somehow goes on. They rise, bathe, chip chip chip chip in the water and mud.

But something is gone now. Gone forever. The Duck Kingdom has been defeated.