Lamar Lake Duck Tale: The story of how one duck connected a Wyoming community

By Estelle Slootmaker
WKTV Contributing Writer

Lamar Park’s lake has been my family’s happy place a long time. My dad caught turtles there in the 1930s and was the lifeguard in the 1940s. My parents began taking me there in the late 1950s. I remember seeing African American children for the first time at its beach, specifically a little girl my age with rich dark skin and lovely pink palms. My mom simply stated, “We are all the same on the inside.”

In the 1960s, I learned to swim in that lake on chilly 7 a.m. summer mornings and, during even chillier winters, raced and beat the boys ice skating. I found out about kissing there in 1970s. In the 1980s, I brought my own kids there to swim. The last time we went, my son Andy dove underwater and came up with a ten-dollar bill. So many good times!

Lamar Park neighbors were able to capture Goofus’ buddy, Sir Lancelot. (Photo by Daniela Georgescu)

These days, I love walking around the lake that’s now home to so many interesting wildlife creatures. Huge, rust-colored carp, silver trout, quick diving turtles, and the flocks of geese and ducks. This past summer, one duck in particular caught my eye — a huge, white, domestic Pekin duck who was quite at home with a flock of much smaller, wild, brown mallards. I named him Goofus, though later I found out “he” was probably a “she.” Other friends of this little lake we’re enamored with Goofus, as well. One called her “Goofy,” another “Donald.” Donna Batdorf called her “Guinevere.” No doubt others had their own name for this somewhat laughable, but fabulous femme fatale.

Why do I say fatale? Well, for one, Goofus and another Pekin duck did not come to Lamar Lake on their own accord. Some cruel human ditched the ducks, even though they couldn’t fly (wings clipped) and would no doubt die of cold as soon as the next winter blew in. Humans with a more compassionate nature were able to rescue Goofus’ partner. But Goofus was too smart for them.

Goofus and Sir Lancelot (Photo by Daniela Georgescu)

Batdorf posted about the duck’s plight on Facebook. She shares, “… a girl named Rachel stepped forward to help. Rachel has other ducks in a pond on her property and feeds them and makes sure that they’re healthy all winter long by providing shelter. She lives over Allendale way, but came over to Lamar Park and was able immediately to capture the first duck, a male. I hadn’t named him yet, but now I’m going to, and let’s say he was Sir Lancelot, since she was Guinevere. Rachel took Lancelot home and he immediately blended in with her flock. She came back several times alone and sometimes we’d meet and tried to capture Guinevere. We tried various food techniques, and we tried even putting a large pen on the shore to lead her into and then we were going to shut the door real fast. We tried luring her with the previous duck that she knew, but nothing worked.”

Many other folks tried on many other occasions. Each time, Goofus escaped. Lamar neighbor, Marcy Kale, had plans to winter Goofus at her house, if caught. As the attempts continued to fail, another Lamar neighbor, Renee Kooiman posted on Nextdoor, “She’s very wary now and her girl squad of mallards flank her!”

Ah yes, her Mallard family. Goofus taught me that birds of different feathers flock together. These ducks of color welcomed Goofus into their family with open wings. She swam with the flock, slept with the flock, and squawked with flock — although her goofy, loud duck honk was a good deal louder. We humans think we are the superior species. Ha!

I cried the day I learned that Goofus died. I’m not sure how this big, silly bird got a hold of my heart, but she sure did. Unaware that Lamar neighbors were trying to rescue her, I had put in my own message to Wildlife Rehab Center. But before any of us had a chance to spare Goofus from life alone after the mallards migrated and the sure death a cold winter would bring, a not-so-woke human ran her down and killed her in the road. Goofus and her friends were on their way to eat some seed at a neighbor’s feeder. Honestly, who would not see a bright white duck the size of a toddler child crossing the residential, park-side street (speed limit 25)?

That’s when I found out about Goofus’ human admirers on Nextdoor. Somehow, I felt comforted knowing that they shared my grief. In that brief online encounter, I had a flock. I hope one of these days, as I walk around the lake, I might run into one or two of them. Who knows, even if we aren’t of the same feather, we could have a very nice chat about a very impressive Pekin duck named Goofus, er … uh … Guinevere — no, Donald. Or was it Goofy?