Just ducky. Really.

Some might say I'm more 'batty' at this point than 'ducky' particularly considering the odd fascination with my little duck friends below. Something about nice white bread, torn into pieces and flung at a gaggle (is it still a 'gaggle' with ducks as it is with geese? -- actually, no; it seems that the preferred terms are a 'paddling' of ducks or a 'raft' of ducks. Even a 'dopping' of ducks. But no gaggle. Let's go with 'raft' and call the first one Huck). Anyway, onto the waterfowl.

Approaching ominously like security service detail. Just missing the ear buds and walkie-talkies. "Check left." "Clear." "Cover me." "Caught in the web." "Ah! Duck Down." Makes for a nice duvet.

Well, I could've been watching baseball instead, but here the ducks cut a swath through the path, making the smaller birds move a long. "But, I'm just a patsy," it said. "A patsy, no -- but perhaps soon, a nice pastry."

Running a tight formation.

Standing regally. Like a lifeguard surveying the scene for any fowl play. Okay, that one was just too much. One (more) too many. Bird brained.

One of these things is not like the other. "Really, officer, I CAN pick the perp out of the lineup." "How, son? Ducks look very much alike to the naked eye, you know." "But, sir, this one was deeeferent."

Okay, so too much fun with the ducks. I get it. I should go back to my diet of thalmon and ginger ale. With a cracker on the side. Enough. Done.