Erica Lucke Dean

"Making the world a better place, one book at a time."

duck you

I am seriously beginning to doubt my sanity. Ducks? What was I thinking? And not just any ducks…Indian Runner ducks. It would appear I acquired the most skittish, nervous, panic ridden ducks out there. Add to that a serious case of Houdini-itis, and I’m stuck with seven jail-breaking ducks that give Rain Man a run for his money.

I wake up each morning to find the ducks have escaped their pen again. I bring them food, fresh water, refill their baby pool, and chase them across the yard for nearly an hour until I’ve managed to trick them into wandering back to the promise land. It’s not bad enough they’re terrified of me, they can’t seem to figure out which way leads to safety. They run on a collision course with danger just to avoid me and my promise of food and water.

Stupid little ducks.

I’ve tried to find the escape route, to no avail. My husband just rolls his eyes and shrugs, content to leave them to their own accord. I can’t do that. I see my mastiff eyeing them like a nice duck dinner. I know he wants to give chase. but I also know my little quackers have no sense of self-preservation. They bob when they should weave. They surge when they should retreat. They are so toast if the dog, and his massive paws, get close.

So I run around my yard, corralling ducks and taunting the dog with blocks of expensive cheese. My husband thinks I’m nuts, but what’s new. As long as no one shows up with a video camera while I’m out there, I guess they can live.

The little ducks, on the other hand…I’m not so sure about them. Those crazy bowling pins with eyes are making me appreciate the chickens more and more every day. I think I might try turkeys next…they couldn’t be worse than ducks, right?

Until the next time…I’ll be hunting ducks!

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