Duck, Duck, Goose.

• Author: Puterbaugh, Dolores T.
• Position: PARTING THOUGHTS - Muscovy ducks and modern day human sexuality

MUSCOVY DUCKS are ugly. There simply is no getting around it. Perhaps some find them in the category of, "so ugly, they're cute," the befuddling phrase used to describe certain regrettable-looking breeds of dog with what seems to be a permanent, long drip of slime on their maws. I do not see it, in either the dog or the duck. Muscovy also are an invasive species here in west-central Florida, driving out our adorable and good-natured native ducks. Thus, they are unwelcome both in, and by, appearance.

During an Emmaus retreat at the Franciscan Center in Tampa, I was able to observe a female Muscovy by the river. She was waddling along, looking into the water on her right and then to the ground on her left, seeking food. She was followed closely by one, then two, then four, large, ugly and showy Muscovy males. She seemed oblivious. They were posturing: just short of chest-bumping one another, fluffing up their feathers, strutting in circles, and then, realizing she had waddled on farther ahead, scuttling up closer to the object of their desire before devolving into posturing observed only by one another, and me.

Ms. Muscovy did not feel obliged to wear shorter feathers in her nether region or walk on her webbed toes to gain their attention, and indeed, it apparently was unnecessary. She had the power of her femininity, and that was sufficient. God knows how large the flock of males outstrutting each other got before she made her selection; the bells rang and I hurried off to join my fellow retreatants for morning prayer.

Flash back to the 1980s, when wearing brassieres over one's clothing, instead of under, was all the rage for a few unfortunate years. During a lunch conversation, a male colleague (middle aged, recently divorced, and apparently adjusting with difficulty) mentioned his amazement at seeing this while out in a nightclub. A few of the females opined we never would do such a thing. If we were not married, he said, and had to be out there, competing for male attention... whoa, Whoa, WHOA! A man, I said, for whom I was to "compete" by wearing my underwear over my clothes would not be the man for me. My female cohorts agreed. Divorced dude was amazed.

Alas, times have, apparently, changed. Somehow the power to vote, own property, and be paid the same for the same work (let's not go to where we compare part-time clerical staff with chemical engineers and whine about salary differences, okay?) seems cast aside for the "power" to wear...