Donald and Daisy

I pulled my pant legs up over my knees and stood on the front porch.
"Daisy!" I greeted my duck, "are you hungry this morning? Look, I brought you corn!" I reached into the bowl of thawed corn (it isn't quite time for fresh corn) and tossed her a handful. I was amazed at the agility of her beak in picking out the kernels among the blades of grass.
"Where's Donald this morning?" She didn't even look up. "Is he at the pond?" Again, my question was met with silence. My feet began to freeze on the wet cement. "Daisy, are you cold in this rain?" I stood there for a moment longer, and then went inside my warm house.

That afternoon I watched a somewhat geeky couple stop in front of our lawn and talk to the ducks. The guy even started to walk like a duck and quack. My ducks are smart. They didn't quack back, they retreated from the crazies. Another guy bent and picked some of our grass and tossed it to the ducks. Smart move sir. They really love that grass. Yup. I think to myself, "you don't know the first thing about taking care of ducks!"

Over the past few weeks, I have become attached to those two ducks. I love that Donald will eat hard boiled eggs, but Daisy will not. Daisy has enough audacity and belief in being fed that she will come within inches of my hand, but Donald will stay at least three feet away. Donald won't even eat until Daisy has, the gentleman that he is. They are pragmatic creatures, no fooling around, ever.
Their schedules run like this: wake up, wait for breakfast on the lawn, eat breakfast with starving child in ethiopia speed, drink water from the corel bowl, sleep, eat lunch, drink more water, poop in the water dish, drink more water, sleep, dinner, disappear for the night.

I wonder if my ducks would like Duke Ellington.