During my pre-teen days, I used to accompany my late Granny on her bi-monthly trips from Butterworth to a small town called Padang Serai in Kedah, to visit her eldest daughter. We would wait at the bus stop nearby for the red-and-yellow liveried Central Province Wellesley bus to take us on the 90-minute journey.
On each visit, Granny would pack at least one chicken (sometimes a duck as well) from her own hand-raised “broods” in our backyard, for my Big Aunty and her family.
Usually, the chicken was quite cooperative (legs tied, no doubt), but the ducky fellow could be quite an embarrassing nuisance with its non-stop quacking all the way. Well, in those days, no one in the bus complained or made a hoo-hah. It was an accepted way of life. (In these days of smartphones, the saga would have gone viral).
And on her farm she had some ducks
With a quack quack here, And a quack quack there
And quack quack everywhere ………
Those were the privileges of living in a kampong. Grandma used to rear a small flock of ducks (and chicken as well). Those duckies really made a lot of noise especially when it came to feeding time.
Ducklings were the cutest of all. Such a joy to watch them swimming happily in the big tub that substituted for a natural pond. Grandma used to chop up cockles into small pieces and fed them to those little fluffy things and they grew up fast …..
But some of the ducklings would turn out to be males – male ducks are called “drakes” – the adult ones made little noise, something like a person who had a bad sore throat and lost his voice. The ratio of male-to-female ducks was like 1:20, or so I felt. Why ? I dunno lah