Larry The Lucky Ducky (Issue #142)

Once upon a few days ago, I went for a walk along my creek. As most of you know, I'm on a rigorous fitness program these days. Well, perhaps rigorous isn't quite the right word -- let's call it listless-plus.



Sometimes, like on this particular day, I take my camera with me. I do this in case I come across some flowers or wildlife that would make a nice pic. It's hardly ever because I've been walking for 10 freaking minutes already and want an excuse to pause for a bit.



See? Those were sort of interesting-looking flowers and get ready to "Awww" because here comes some cute baby duckies.



Told ya.

Occasionally, when in the outdoors, one comes across real-life scenes of drama. (You know, like the stuff you see on Discovery, only in 3D and Smell-O-Vision but you don't have to wear cardboard glasses and scratch any cards and then sniff your finger.) Anyway, this was one of those days.

In the distance, I caught a glimpse of something yellow. Readers of my book know that decades of outdoor experience have honed my Heightened Awareness to such a degree that I can catch a 6-inch trout and by the time I release it, I actually perceive it as it will appear in 5 years. Which explains all the record-breaking fish I've lost. Anyway, my HA told me this was no ordinary bit of flotsam. I hurried forward for a closer look.



I couldn't be positive from this angle but it appeared to be a young duckling in distress. I stealthily approached from the other side, being careful not to disturb the undoubtedly distraught creature.

I was right. It was a fine specimen of Duckus Rubbernica, Hollywood genus.



Speaking quietly and mindful of that beak, which even at this young age was powerful enough to crush algae, I reached out and plucked the lucky ducky from its predicament. Suddenly picturing him in suspenders and leaning on a desk quacking at Paris Hilton (HA is not always controllable) I decided to call him Larry.

With an affectionate scratch behind where his ears would be if he was a dog, I bade Larry farewell and released him into the main current.

He looked happy enough but I had to question his choice in sunglasses. They were stylish, sure, but appeared to be a titch too heavy for him, resulting in balance issues.



Aside from his decision to go with style over stability, Larry appeared to be in fine fettle and continued on his journey to Lake Ontario, only a couple of miles away.



Bye Larry! Good luck and Godspeed!

PS: That night, I had a dream that my foot hurt and Larry came to me and nibbled a thorn out of my toe.