I'm bobbin' along on the crest of a wave when something, la te da something, as Bill Withers once sang. I'm chatting with my new best buddies about this and that and this again when this little mallard cutie catches my eye. Wow, she's a looker, I try to get to know her a little better and her bad ass mate comes in a flappin' and a squirking, damn little punk. I act cool, like el Dunco always does and winked in a knowingly winky way.
She's mine and she knows it. Her name is Ennjay, she was a showduck, with yellow feathers in her hair and a crop cut down to there.
That's not her real name by the way, duck names are so complicated and spoken at such high pitch that a bean like you would have bleeding head holes if I yelled her duckie nom de etang.
And, just a thought . . . Bill Withers can't be his real name, can it?, eeuw, sounds nasty.
