No, not the phone kind.
Walking up the apartment stairs, I was hit by a loud, high pitched sound. First, I thought it was the neighbor's dog (they tend to make A LOT of noise, dogs). . . but those neighbors moved out over a week ago. Hmm. Probably a bird somewhere, or maybe a bat. So I start walking up the stairs, and there it is again: this loud, repetitive screeching, like an alarm clock gone bad. I'm a naturally curious person. If I'm sure it's not zombies, I like to investigate. So I did.
And I found a baby duck.
He was huddled between a doorway and a trashcan, screaming for his mommy. Poor little fellow. Mom wasn't anywhere around
I didn't even think it was the season for ducklings. We had a nest around Easter, but that was the last of it.
I burst in the door, clutching a still screaming infant fowl. "CHRISTOPHER!!! Guess what! Guess what!"
"What the crap is that?"
I hold out the ball of fluff, beaming, "GOD GAVE ME A DUCK!!!!"
To explain, I've wanted a duckling ever since my first duckling, at age six, was devoured in the night by mysterious monsters. We blame racoons, but it's never been proven, so they're off the hook.
So I put him in the tub to go swimming . . . and then spent most of the night holding him. I probably shouldn't, but I couldn't help it.
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| Do you see WHY I can't help it? So stinkin' adorable. |
At this point, he's somewhere between hating me and not wanting me to leave the room.
As I typed this, I am imprisoned in the bathroom while he preens and tries not to doze off, huddled on my heating pad under a desk lamp.
Do you know the joyful inconvience of having your only bathroom turned into a duck preservation center?
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| Pipkin meets the duckling. She's terrified of water, so this is the only time she's allowed in the bathroom I'm a very protective duck mother. |
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| Can I has it? |
P.S. Watching a duckling nod off is like the cutest thing EVER.
