Near Greg’s office, lies a pond. Around this pond, lies a trail. On this trail, lie some ducks. I went jogging on this trail a few days ago, something I rarely do. As I approached the ducks — three females and three males — I slowed my jogging because they weren’t moving. I expected them to fly, or at least waddle, away from me. I’m a little nervous around foul because I was bitten by a swan when I was a toddler. Fortunately, he bit me on my diapered bottom. At any rate, I didn’t want one of these ducks to peck me as I tried to jog past.
I got closer and closer until it became obvious that these ducks would not budge. One of the male ducks sat a few feet from the rest of the flock. He seemed to be the lookout duck.
“Aren’t you going to move?!” I shouted at the ducks, hoping this would spur them to action.
Lookout Duck gave me the evil eye.
“Quack, quack,” he said.
This is the first time in my life that a duck has directly addressed me. As you can gather from his response, the ducks did not move. But they didn’t peck me either as I ran within inches of their bills. I did two more laps past them and heard nary a peep from Lookout Duck. So we lived happily ever after.