Mr. Mallard

Mr. Mallard came to the park for his secret rendezvous, forgetting really why he was there. He stood there as conspicuously as he could, hoping the answer, literally, would come to him. As he waited, those curious animals walked by, some arm in arm, some yelling at one another, some eating (something which smelled rather fishy…). He watched, and waited. He preened himself a bit – always had to look his best, after all! And he pretty much just enjoyed the day. It was his favorite kind. Sun, some clouds, slight breeze… yes, a mallard could definitely make something of a day like this.

But what was that? Over there in the shadows? He ran over for a look. Eh, it was nothing, he supposed, and went back to standing and staring and waiting.

And that’s when it arrived. One of those small humans that barely knew how to walk. It saw Mr. Mallard and poor Mr. Mallard didn’t know what to make of him. He knew he’d been waiting for something, but not this! Definitely not this! He ran, blindly, and at last, feeling like he would never escape, lifted himself laboriously off the ground, knowing he’d miss the rendezvous and certainly hear about it later. But this! This was just not in the contract.

A few moments later, the sound of quacking could be heard in the park, and there was what we can only assume was Mrs. Mallard, there for their picnic. When she saw he wasn’t there – again – oh, boy, she let out a string of curse words that one can never repeat, not even in Duck. She paced and quacked and paced and quacked, and that’s when she saw me. She made a beeline straight for me. I didn’t know what to do, what to say, what to think! I don’t know Duck! How would I communicate with her?

She asked me things like, “Can you believe that guy?” and “What does a girl have to do for a little nookie?” And I just watched her and said, “I know what you mean, but please don’t bite my toes.” And she paced and walked away and then walked back and said some more unutterable phrases, and when she’d said her fill, she too was off into the wind.

I suppose Mr. and Mrs. Mallard are either together or apart tonight. It’s the story of their lives, really. Always in the mood, but never really having the right timing.


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