Identity Confusion . . . in the barnyard

I stand at the gate to the barnyard and giggle. I have called and they are coming, rushing up the hillside from the pasture. The chickens are always first, assisting their little legs with flapping wings. Then comes Buck, the goat, running and bleating loudly. Donk, not wanting to look too eager, takes his time, stopping occasionally to check out the reason for being called away from his dinner of grasses. And then comes Jemima, the duck, quacking loudly and waddling as fast as she can, but far behind the barnyard crowd.

Jemima is the one who tickles me. She, in no way, can compete with the others . . . on dry land.  I did notice her jump into her little swimming pool one day when the chickens approached to get a drink. Facing them and moving around the little pool to ward off their approach, she was definitely the queen of the pool. But, on dry land, she is the bottom of the pecking order.

She seems to be in confusion, though, as to who she is. Mostly she identifies with the goat. She works hard to stay by his side but gets left behind all too often   She would also like to hang out with the chickens who systematically reject her. She is not quite sure how to be one of them.  I know and the other barnyard occupants know, she is a duck and will always be a duck.

I find it hard to identify with her dilemma. There is something about reality that we cannot change: a duck is a duck. I feel for her. I may get another duck to help her with her identity problem, but as she matures and becomes content with her own clumsy webbed feet (that can paddle very nicely in the pool), her love for rain when the others run for cover, her ability to scoff up more grain than the chickens with her rounded beak, she just might be happy being a duck.