It's a quack

Current mood: Ducky
Current music: Lemon Jelly – Nice Weather for Ducks

Having mentioned Ogden Nash in my last entry, I feel compelled to include a little example of his humorous poetry, if only for the benefit of those who haven't heard of him. The following verse is dedicated to our web-footed friend:

The Duck by Ogden Nash

Behold the duck.
It does not cluck.
A cluck it lacks.
It quacks.
It is specially fond
Of a puddle or pond.
When it dines or sups,
It bottoms ups.

Image found on http://www.thebegavalley.com/1783.0.html

Now that we're on the subject of ducks, I'm throwing in a short story I wrote sometime this summer. If you've read it before, you can read it again, in this Brand New Super-Duper-Special Illustrated Edition! Yay! Enjoy, folks.

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NOTE: The following story may contain brief moments of violence. If you have a highly sensitive nature and are unlikely to be able to deal with such a disturbance, please read no further than the title, then go and feed breadcrumbs to some ducks.

The Happy Duck or A Story with Three Morals

Once upon a time there was a happy little duckling who lived on a lake. He was very happy because the lake had everything he could possibly wish for and desire, such as food to eat, lovely tall reeds to shelter him and of course, the company of other ducks. The little duckling splashed and played in the water and enjoyed his ducklinghood immensely.


Image found on http://www.greatartforgreatkids.com/
list.asp?nav=artist&artistid=18

This happy duck was a very special duck - he stayed happy as he reached adulthood, and did not develop the mass of personality problems other ducks did when they grew up. Other ducks suffered from executive stress (I have not earned enough breadcrumbs today), existential angst (oh, who have I been reduced to in the ravages of time, if I am no longer young and cute enough to beg breadcrumbs off those hare-brained tourists), and of course, paranoia (those may look like ordinary breadcrumbs to you, but I smell a rat). The happy duck remained blissfully free of these terrible afflictions.

So one fine autumn morning, when he was going for his daily swim, he completely and utterly failed to notice the hunter sneaking up on him, and was shot, plucked, roasted and served with orange sauce in time for the hunter's family dinner. Our hero might have been happy to know that he was the most delicious duck the family have ever tasted, and was therefore usefully producing a lot of satisfied and happy smiling faces.

Then again, maybe not.

Image found on http://innonthelake.com/gallery/default.asp?id=80

The first moral of this story is:
A happy duck is a tasty duck. Free-range farming is the way to go.

The second moral of this story is:
A healthy dose of paranoia never hurt anybody.

The third moral of this story is:
Be grateful you're not a duck, you sufferers of executive stress, existential angst and extreme paranoia. At least you don't need to worry about breadcrumbs.

THE END

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I hope you liked that. And for dessert, I have here a lovely picture of a mother duck and her adorable little ducklings (thanks for the pic, Lou!). Aren't the little ones sweet?


Hey, where'd they go?