Ducks: They may seem, even look like harmless little
herbivores, but underneath those fine and slick feathers there is a mind devoid
of all morals and scruples. I know this, because I have been exposed to the
deception that they put up around themselves on several occasions.
One story in particular
that comes to mind is the afternoon that I spent making pancakes with my good
neighbor Mr. Lions.
Mr. Lions was a very dear friend of ours, and a native
Swede. He had a round and portly belly, that came from eating too many
shortcake cookies, and a big, bushy beard that was combed once in a blue moon.
It was as golden as a lion’s mane and frankly, I always thought of a lion when
I saw it. But this was the only resemblance between him and a lion, for his
face was very kind and thoughtful.
On his property was a very large pond that was well stocked
with trout and bass, (which were prey to my fishing hook on warm summer days). There
was often a large troupe of ducks that congregated on the pond to mix and
socialize, and on those afternoons of fishing when I sat hooking the worms in my
tackle-box, I could see them from out of the corner of my eye, watching my
every move with suspicion. You could say that I watched them for the same
reason.
It was like any other
day at Mr. Lions. We were busy in his kitchen making preparations for our
blueberry pancakes; I was fast at work stirring a saucepan of buttermilk with
light strokes, treating my task with the utmost of importance, while Mr. Lions
mixed the last of his special ingredients into the cream.
The sash window in the
kitchen was open and Mr. Jack, Mr. Lions’ dog was making an awful ruckus about
something outside. We both looked up from our work and Mr. Lions stepped over
to the Dutch door to see what all the fuss was about.
He swung the top part
open and without any warning, into the kitchen flew a duck, flapping its wings
and quacking like a wild goose. Mr. Lions looked incredulous as the duck padded
along the kitchen floor in a flurry. But there was no time to be surprised; in
another moment a second duck flew in! And a third, and a forth and a fifth!
I screamed as if I had
been pinched very hard, and Mr. Lions tried his best to steer the ducks out of
the kitchen; but it was no use! They had flown onto the counters and were
making a mess out of everything! Blueberries were scattered and squashed on the
ground, what was left of the cream was stuck in Mr. Lions’ beard, and a
particularly daunting duck had made me drop my pan of buttermilk onto the
floor.
Mr. Lions stood still
and laughed his jolly laugh as if nothing in the world could have been funnier.
I cried bitterly.
Chatboard (2)