Duck Union Demands Better Wages

Today is the kind of day that the old Rabies-free me would have found some reason to leave the office 45 minutes early (usually some sort of phantom “meeting”), head to my favorite Tapas bar (note- that does not say “topless” bar), stake out a really great patio table and order up a pitcher of fresh Sangria.  I would have stayed until the sun went down, gone home to veg in front of the American Idol results and passed out early.  The next morning I would stress over finding the perfect shirt to hide my new sunburned arms that sneaked up on me while getting my drink on, pretty sure the boss would not believe that my “meeting” was under a heat lamp.

But, since my new boss would never stand for that sort of tomfoolery, and since I certainly can’t drink an entire pitcher of Sangria these days without blacking out, I did the next best thing.  The little boss man and I loaded up the stroller, went for a quick jog, and ended up at the pond with all the ducks.  We visited them once earlier this week and I was completely taken aback by Kendall’s interest in them.  I do believe he was even trying to say “duck”, although it sounded more like “duh” so maybe he was just mocking me.  Today was different, though. We brought duck snacks!  Sure is it was some stale Veggie Booty from a few months ago that I found in the darkest corner of our pantry, but last I checked ducks don’t have the most discriminate palate.

So there we are, hanging out on the side of the pond.  Admittedly, I was stifling the mom horror visions of him somehow slipping from my grip and rolling down the hill into the murky waters 10 feet away, but I got over it by holding him extra tight.  Maybe a little too tight.  I got the bag of Veggie Booty out and Kendall immediately opened his mouth.  “Uhm, no silly.  You JUST ate.  This is icky (said with extra emphasis and silly face for the word “icky”).  Let’s feed the ducks!”  I tossed a handful in their direction, expecting them to clamor over each other for the deliciousness of something that is not stale bread.  They ran for the snacks on cue, but then, as if synchronized, every single one of them STOPPED in their tracks about a foot away, turned around and left them there!  Okay…so let’s try the water.  Maybe they like them soggy?  I toss a hand full out to the pond, a couple waddle to the edge to jump in, but then halt when they see it’s the same stuff.  The few ducks already in the water wanted nothing to do with it.  Have you ever heard of such picky, ungrateful little bastard ducks?!

Of course, the Veggie Booty may not be fine enough fare for the spoiled ducks, but I could barely keep Kendall’s paws off the bag.  Stale, fresh, it’s all the same to him.  So we spread out our blanket under a tree and nommed on some 4 month old Veggie Booty.  The same as Sangria on the patio?  No.  Better.

Kendall is 9 months, 3 weeks and 3 days old.

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  1. I love it!!! Isn’t it funny how different we become after having children. I can hardly remember what I was like before I had Big Brother. But then he is four and a half – which means kindergarten in the fall. 🙁

  2. Pingback: Baby's first word | BABY RABIES

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