© The Grand Drake of Wenty Lake
Across the peaceful lake there glides the venerable Grand Drake: the unrivalled ‘el-supremo’ of local ducks.
From the hanging swamp to the weir he is lauded and revered; verily, his rivals are awestruck.
All the hens that he encounters are chronically disappointed, for he seeks the famous duck called ‘Ida’ Down...
Under cover of the foliage in the quiet of his dark garden, he would take this coveted quacker, coloured brown.
Though the Grand Drake did believe that he was ‘oh so good’; in reality, he, was just an ordinary Aussie wood!
A little larger to be sure than his other, brother drakes, for GD’s father was a mallard, so common and so crude.
But no trace could be found of the fabled ‘Ida’ Down, though he searched both night and day amidst the rushes.
He even asked the local duck-sage known as ‘Mandrake’, to determine where this virgin quakes and blushes.
Elderly Mandrake paddled hard, for he was an old mallard, who had spent his life attending ducks that cracked.
He swam in concentric circles; he was eccentric; he turned purple but at length he admitted defeat with final quack!
He said, ‘Listen close my Lord Grand D, I know well that you are randy; but give up the quest for Ida – it’s a fable.’
But the Grand Drake was quite obstinate and he crossed the lake once more ‘cause on the other shore by picnic table – He saw a glimpse of white, spread his wings and took flight quacking loudly, ‘Ida, here I come it’s your last chance!’
But it was of no use ‘cause he had mistook ‘Mother Goose’ who honked loudly and quite proudly snubbed his advance.
Then an old hen feeling clucky quacked out, ‘Over here Grand Ducky! I’ve got what you want, so...feeling lucky?’
But frantic as he was, the Grand Drake kept his poise and quacked, ‘be gone you bogus swan back to Kentucky!’
Was he thinking of fried chicken? His reproductive glands were ticking; his need to produce an heir ‘egged’ his call.
GD had an apparition in his nest that very nightfall of three ducks in flight like porcelain figures prone upon a wall.
He perceived one duck as Ida and himself the other glider; perhaps the third was the duckling he longed to produce –
A little duckling boy with down, like his mother a nutty brown; more than a mallard decoy, a feathered papoose.
Then one day a wayward swan, splashed into the lake forlorn, at a misty time in winter’s drawn-out season.
Once more the foolish, sad Grand Drake made another awkward mistake and called the black swan ‘Ida’ for no reason.
‘No,’ said the puzzled swan, ‘my name is Wayne, offcourse I’ve flown; I lost my way in the rain you foolish drake!
The only Eider ducks I know are in the Northern climes; at no time do they shed down in Australia you feathered flake!’
‘Is there not a unique Ida?’ ‘No, it’s Eider same as cider or...a spider.’ Then Wayne the swan took off to find sanctum.
The Grand Drake was perplexed, disconsolate and vexed for he had wasted precious time in search of phantoms.
So this maladjusted mallard, still mooning for a comrade, met a dazzling, dizzy duck known as ‘Madoona’.
Like a goose she took a gander at this drake who was far grander than the other dreary drakes who tried to woo her.
The Grand Drake and Madoona got their act together sooner than was considered appropriate by most water fowl.
Though GD had waited long enough, Madoona was made of sterner stuff and rebuffed him – after that threw in the towel.
Across the peaceful lake there glides the venerable Grand Drake with Madoona in his wake and ducklings aplenty.
From the hanging swamp to the weir he is lauded and revered, as he surveys his watery fiefdom at Lake Wenty.