There's no reason the duck should be uncomfortable. It's a perfectly good shirt, its fabric soft and smooth from years of hard wearing, and there's an equally soft inner shirt between the duck and Fakir's skin. Both shirts are dry, warm and clean and smell faintly of some sort of cologne.

In any case, the duck won't have to stay in Fakir's shirt for very long. Fakir notices that the duck is wriggling. It probably wants to get outside where it belongs. Fakir strides out of the locker room without saying goodbye to Iguanadon, and soon afterwards he sets the duck down by the reed patches at the bank of the creek.