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Ducking Responsibility

We have ducks. The ducks were not my idea. Actively not my idea. In fact, it would be more than safe to say I felt I had made my abundant disinterest in all things poultry quite clear to the Husbandly One. We had a variety of avian life around when I was a kid, and I remember virtually none of it fondly. (More on that later. Be warned.) Yet, one day when I was visiting family for a few days, he called. "I have a surprise for you!" He was clearly excited. "I'm not sure if I can wait to tell you." (He's like that, for better or worse, and most of the time it's better; there's little mistaking an emotion he's having and secrets don't come easily to the man. Which is terrific. I highly recommend this quality in a person.)

"A surprise? For me?!" Oh, I wondered to myself. What could it be? Had he built me something? (The H.O. is a fabulous woodworker and contractor.) A gift? Perhaps a new bauble from our favorite jewelry store? I don't get boxes from there often, but every now and then, a delightful surprise shows up as a super-special treat. Or, oooh! Maybe that outdoor area that needs to be leveled for us to have anything like a lawn area - maybe he is planning to delight me with a veritable delta of flatness upon which to socialize in future without asking all of our guests to risk broken ankles? Could it BE?!

Well, if t'were to be, t'weren't then. "I got ducks!" he announced.

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