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Recent News... Just for Pope Gregory... |
2004-06-24 - 10:56 a.m. Quack-quack-waddle-waddle It has been a frantic work week with small problems and frustrating people preventing progress over idiotic issues. I had someone tell me today he could deliver anything to me until he got toner for his desk printer. Pecked to death by ducks. Speaking of ducks, my nephew now owns two baby ducklings. And, in the way of the world, they live, not with my nephew, but with his grandmother. Why? Cause grandmother lives on a farm. This adds another layer of complexity to her morning constitutional. Only after the dogs and cats are leashed and corralled, respectively, can Mom release Puddles and Quacker from their box of safety which prevents them from becoming prey. (Yes, the ducklings are named Puddles and Quacker. No, I don�t know whether to blame my mother or my nephew. At least, my nephew being just under age 4 would have an excuse. However, I point out my mother named our barn cats �Barney� and �B.C.�, short for Barn Cat, because she does that kind of thing.) Once released, the quack-quack-waddle-waddle parade begins. My mother, with the cry of �Here duckie, duckie. Duckie, duckie,� leads the ducklings across the yard for their morning swim in the pond. If my nephew is present for the outing, it�s like adding Shriner�s cars to the town parade, as he darts about the yard and splashes in the filthy pond hunting for the tadpole that is almost entirely a frog now. If we're lucky, she won't teach these ducklings tricks like she did my baby chickens. But, I have a feeling these poultry will also learn to speak on command. Ah, well. At least ducks don't crow at dawn. Kymber: I'm sure these things happen to other people. I just don't happen to know any of them. Today, I would really like to join Mom�s duck walk, rather than the three more meetings this afternoon. But tomorrow I have off. We have plans to kidnap the Kevin and Jake and head for the Tournament of Chivalry. I even have a Jake un-birthday gift. (he he he.) And, if Kevin behaves himself, I won�t read him smutty novels until his brain melts. Hey, Kev. Rumble for me. � � � 
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