Just Wing It

I should be banned from the Tractor Supply store in the Spring.  In the center of the store, six silver galvanized barrels with heat lamps were coralled together bearing tiny balls of fluff with feet.  Dust bunnies they were not.  Peeps, tweets, flutters and pecks emerged from within as I peered over the railing into the bins below.  I smiled at the perfect webbed feet, the tiny bills and awkwardness of a pile of baby ducks.

I wanted one.  I needed one.  I demanded one.  I stomped my foot and pouted.  The man in my life told me "NO", firmly in his English accent that made it clear there was no room for discussion.  Still, I tried to reason that we had a pond which was perfect for ducks.  I was reminded, quite sensibly, that we also had four dogs, one of which was a bird dog.

I complained to my friends about the unfairness of the situation.  I lamented over the fact that the ducks were super cute.  I whined.  I stomped my foot and pouted.  They listened to my plight of woe and agreed that I did need a duck.  I deserved a duck.  Two weeks later, when I arrived at work on my birthday, I was presented with four ducks.  Fearing the reaction of the "Englishman", I emailed him a photo of my present.  He immediately responded with a single word: BOLLOCKS!!!

Undeterred,  I pretended to not understand the British slang and embarked on a needed trip to the local Tractor Supply store to buy a book on ducks.  There were none.  How a store that offered ducks for sale did not also sell instructions on how to raise them confounded me.  No duck food, no duck books....just lots of live baby ducks!  

I bought a chicken starter kit since it seemed close enough.  As I left the store in my five-inch Betsey Johnson floral wedges, I decided to just wing it.  How hard could raising ducks be?  Clutching my Mary Jane's Farm magazine in one hand and my peeping cardboard carrying case of ducklings in the other, I made my way home, eager to embrace my inner farm girl.

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