Monday, July 09, 2007

The Duck

This is our new duck. So far, we call it...Duck.

She's apparently a she, according to Lori. I'm not sure how she knows that (Hey! Who's the biologist around here, anyway??). I suspect maybe she looked up under it's feathers or something. Sicko duck fetishist.

The duck came with it's own supply of duck food, but we'll probably supplement with some kind of duck snack that will ultimately make it obese, like all our pets. We're secretly Italian mothers, I think. Food is love.

She seems to be a bright little duck. Don't you think the duck looks wise? She looks like a duck in the know. She possesses the wisdom of the least for ducks. She sometimes looks over at me and waddles a little faster, glancing over her skinny little duck shoulder to see if I've gone away yet.

We're going to be pals one day. She doesn't know yet that I have animal magnetism, and all animals eventually fall under my spell. Soon, the duck will be sleeping in our bed between Lori and me, fighting with the cats for the coveted position between our heads. But we won't let her sleep on the down pillows...that's too sick, even for us.

Those of you who grew up in Chicago in the 60s...Remember Ray Raynor and Chelveston the duck? Remember their endlessly antagonistic relationship...Ray flinging lettuce at the duck, the duck in full out attack mode, like a shin-seeking missile? Ray backing away rapidly, his voice increasing in pitch until, by the time the Huckleberry Hound cartoon started, Ray's voice could only be heard by dogs and submarine sonar operators?

Well...that's not us. Ray was definitely not an animal person. About the most animal he could stand was that stuffed dog, Cuddly Dudley. If Cuddly Dudley had been a real dog, it would have bitten Ray like every other animal guest on his show.

In an amazing display of Blog Drift...I was telling Lori about Ray Raynor and Frazier Thomas, both of whom probably considered themselves to be serious journalists until they found themselves wearing fezzes and pastel jump suits and talking earnestly to hand puppets and ducks.

Oh, the humanity. I'll bet Ray kicked the duck when no one was looking.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Lori Fred,
Blessings sometime come in feathered packages. DUCKS EAT FROGS. Diane