*The Mallard: A Radio Play

CATEGORY: Humor

AUTHOR DISCLAIMER: No animals were injured during the writing of this piece: they were already dead before I met them. The humans, however, are a different story.

Hi Buns. I’m back!

Oh honey, I have someth-

Where’s the mallard?

That’s what I -

Where’s the mallard?!

That’s what I -

Where - is - the- mallard?

That’s what I -

WHAT HAPPENED TO THE MALLARD?!

Give me a chance to tell - -

I’m listening.

No you’re not, you just keep asking - -

Oh, you mean I just keep asking where the mallard is because it isn't where it's been for the last two decades?

While we were gone, a rodent broke in and - -

Where - is - it?

The rodent?

THE FUCKING MALLARD!

It was...it wasn't...well, you know it had feathers and- -

Did you put it in the garbage?

You don’t want to - -

{sound effects in sequence: slamming door, running footsteps, rattling garbage cans, walking footsteps, opening door}

Thank God there was no pick-up yet!

DO NOT BRING THAT THING IN HERE! IT’S DISGUSTING!

Hah! I always knew you didn’t really like it.

What do you mean? I love it.

Oh I see. You threw it away because you love it.

Don’t be sarcastic.

Okay. I'll be straightforward: You hate it!

I admit, when I moved in with you it was difficult, at first, to enjoy my meals with a dead duck looking over my shoulder.

So you beat me home, realized you finally had it at your mercy and seized the opportunity to - -

Are you implying I've been plotting against a stuffed mallard for three years? Now, if it was one of your ex-wives, okay, you might be on to something,

You're too late. They've already been recycled.

Look, I just never got used to the mallard at the dinner table, okay?

You never said anything.

I did tell you dinner guests are grossed out - and that was even before it got chewed up by mice.

Not my friends.

True, your friends would hunt it down through the house if it had any mobility left. I'm surprised you didn't put the thing on wheels for their target practice. And now...LOOK at it.

I can fix it.

It’s been deteriorating for awhile.

I can fix it.

Fine, but...but... I’m putting my foot down.

You're going stomp to death what’s left of the poor thing?

Despite the fact that you treat it better than you do some of my very much alive friends, the mallard is already dead, remember? And after you fix it up, it’s not going to live on the dinner table anymore. We’re putting it in your clubhouse.

What clubhouse? Am I one of the Little Rascals?

You don’t have to call it a clubhouse. You can call it your workshop or your poker palace or your den of iniquity, I don’t care.

Whatever it’s called, I don’t have one.

Then build it. And the walrus head goes in it too.

He looks great in our bathroom!

Those beady little eyes watch me when I’m naked.

Now a walrus head is lusting after you? Why didn’t you ever mention this before? I can’t believe my sweet little Buns is saying all this.

I’ve been picking and choosing my battles. More than moving the walrus head, I wanted that swordfish off the bedroom wall.

Well you got your wish there.

You only agreed because it stabbed you in the balls when it fell during the earthquake.

You're the one who initiated sex during the quake, said you wanted the earth to move in every way possible.

Now I just want the mallard and the walrus to move.

Which first?

The mallard! I’m the one that found it, remember. I almost threw up.

It’s not like you don’t have any hobbies that affect our relationship, you know.

What’s your objection to my knitting?

None. It’s your meeting men on the Internet I don’t like.

I meet poets, not men.

Literary “chat,” my ass. They just want to get into your online panties.

Only when they take online Viagra. {pause} Honey, let’s not fight. I’m sorry about the mallard. It just looked so awful, I had to get it out of here.

Well, you broadsided me with all your revelations about the mallard and the walrus and the swordfish and the bear - It’s been building, I guess.

I forgot about the bear.

I’m going out to the garage to take care of the mallard.

Honey, are...are the differences between us starting to be a problem? I mean, these separate vacations we took, and now this fight the first time we see each other in a whole week.

Would you mind postponing a relationship talk so I can attend to my mallard?

That’s more or less what you said before our vacations.

I have no objection to talking about our relationship. It’s your timing that annoys me.

The mallard waited all week in that state. Maybe our marriage can’t.

Call those Native American friends of yours and have them bring a peace pipe, okay, or they can smudge us.

This is serious.

Hey, we’ll call my clubhouse a ‘sweat lodge’ in their honor!

Oh, just...go to the garage and fluff up the mallard's feathers. Excuse me, feather now. Singular. I’m going to bed.

Wait, Buns. Can't you understand I'm a bit upset? {pause} I brought you a present.

Was it something you shot? You know I won’t wear death on my person.

Look, I made no secret of the fact that I’m a hunter and fisherman. I told you on our first date and you said you didn’t mind.

You didn’t. You did. I don’t.

That’s big of you.

I can live with the hunting and fishing. What I can’t live with, as I finally realized looking at the mangled mallard, is the display of your murder victims all over the house.

They weren’t murdered. They had a sporting chance.

Guess I should feel grateful you’re not a bullfighter.

Those Native American friends of yours are killers too, you know. Whales and seal pups. Though some of them I’m not even sure are Native Americans, like that blonde-haired, blue-eyed Wolf Ghost.

Ghost Wolf.

How’s he listed in the phone book, anyway ? Plain old Ghost Wolf? Or Wolf comma Ghost ? Or maybe by his wife's name, Eagle Ears or Ears comma Eagle?

That’s his daughter. His wife’s name is Medicine Bitch.

Okay, okay, I don’t want to argue about your friends.

You don't even want to meet my friends. And this isn’t arguing. We’re busy not having a relationship talk.

I missed you, Buns. On my vacation, I missed you.

Me too. NO! STOP! Please don't hug me while you're holding the mallard.

I’m sorry. I’ll take it to the garage {pause} I guess the dinner table really isn’t the most appropriate place.

I AM sorry this happened to it honey. I never wished it ill.

I know that. Let me assess what restoration work I can do, then, well, maybe there’s another kind of restoration needed around here.

I’ve even grown fond of the walrus head. Not in the bathroom, but I am fond of it.

And I think your Native American poetry chants are...um... spiritually uplifting.

{they laugh}

(sounds of kissing and sighing)

Maybe you'll get lucky tonight.

How so?

Maybe I'll move the earth for you again.

Move the bear first, and you got a deal.

the end