I
have loved ducks as long as I can remember.
I love them with a love that probably surpasses the love that one SHOULD
have for waterfowl, but it is OKAY, because, the thing is, I think I might
actually BE a duck.
Bear
with me.
I
don’t really have any evidence for this, but it is highly possible that I am a
duck trapped in a person’s body, which would explain my desire to touch and
stroke ducks and feed them out of my hand and my autistic-like aversion towards
most people. At least people who don’t like
ducks.
I
also quite like swimming.
I
think my love affair with ducks started HERE:
.JPG)
This
is the exactly 1-year-old me, having just unwrapped my best friend, the rather
aptly named “Duck”, who I still have and love just as much to this day. I cannot tell you what it is that I like
about ducks, which is odd, as I can describe exactly what it is that makes me
like llamas so much (but that’s a WHOLE other story). The only explanation for this ineffable
affinity with ducks is that I AM one.
QED.
It
must run in the family because my sister had a similar experience with
rabbits. Once, when she was in trouble,
my mother said to her:
“You
are a very naughty little girl!”
And
she replied:
“I’m
NOT a little girl; I’M A RABBIT.”
My
sister has an IQ of about 150 so there’s probably something to be said for
this.
My
blog will be littered liberally with posts about various ducks; whenever I see
a duck, a picture of a duck, or something which looks like a duck, I take a
photo of it, thus:
.JPG)
I’m
not sure if this is ‘Q’ for ‘Quack’ or simply the Q ‘ZONE’ of the car park of
the boat I was on. I was in Helsinki at
the time so possibly the word for Duck in Finnish begins with a ‘Q’. In context, although they have ‘O’ for ‘Owl’ down
correctly, the whole thing just looks like a very bad alphabet display for
children:
‘R’
for ‘Swan!’
'L' for 'Chicken!'
The
ducks I am currently bonding with live with my boyfriend, or, specifically, in his
college at University. These ducks
always hang out in a four and are therefore BEST FRIENDS.
Once
we went to visit them at night and they were all sleeping but we woke them up
by mistake and they started quacking.
Whoops.
Conclusion: I like ducks, and there will be a lot of them waddling and quacking their way through this blog.
It's funny that you have a thing about ducks too, because last time I spoke to my mother she told me that she and my youngest brother also call each other 'ducks', with her being the 'big duck' and him the 'little duck' or somesuch. And independently of this I had a similar sort of nickname for a friend, whom I called 'mama duck'. All in all, lots of ducks. Which is a good thing.
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