If you’ve been reading this blog you’re aware of the world’s dumbest duck; Bowling Pin Chicken.
Frankly it’s been quite a summer for the little moron. Here’s a recap: Mrs. Curmudgeon forced identity issues on it in Homestead Update #1. I explained that he was a refugee in Homestead Update #2. He and his duck companions were idiots in Update #3. Like all dumb things they were doomed and by Update #4 he was the last duck standing. I renamed him Skidmark, Truck Duck, and Bowling Pin Chicken. I’d gotten hopelessly attached to the dumbass. Six weeks later I mournfully announced Bowling Pin Chicken Is Dead and shared his former alternative lifestyle as Sub-Bacon. I assumed the pigs ate him but two weeks later he came back in I’m Back / The Duck Is Back. Where did he go? What did he do?
For a creature with the shape, size, and intelligence of a bowling pin, the feathery little freak certainly has been entertaining. He can change behavior completely and fluidly; for no apparent reason. One month he’s cowering hawk bait, the next month he’s chasing me around the lawn seeking a treat, the next month he won’t give me the time of day because he’s partying with the pigs.
He lives according to the whim of his completely empty head. Whether by design or fate he’s lived the life of a dozen normal ducks. Who am I to pass judgement on his own definition of success?
Lately he’s decided he’s a pig. He hangs out with porcine tonnage that’s way out of his league. He runs around the pig’s mosh pit stealing food, quacking loudly, chasing his pals, and generally living the most metal life livestock has ever experienced. He’s a declawed kitten doing jello shots and playing tag in a mudpit with the Humongous and Thor. He’s loving it. Either he has balls of steel or is too stupid to worry.
I’m impressed by that level of “don’t give a shit”. There’s a lesson in all this. It probably has something to do with Donald Trump or whether I ought to ride a motorcycle to Alaska or if I should quit going to work and lay in the grass watching the clouds. I have no idea what the lesson really is, but the duck knows it and he’s not sharing.
Here’s a photo I took of him this morning:Snow followed by rain turned the pig pen into a sea of shit. Does Bowling Pin Chicken care? Hell no. He just swims around and happily quacks to himself and he doesn’t want my attention or food. I can’t help but admire that level of resilience.
Folks, that stupid duck simply doesn’t give a rip. It’s not in his nature. He’d be just as happy swimming in a radioactive shark tank as a National Park.
You want to know Zen? Talk to my duck.
I can see the bumper sticker now: Be The Duck.
If BPC (Bowling Pen Chicken) is quacking you have a hen not a drake. Drakes don’t quack, so next spring you could have duck eggs which are great for baking and french toast. Not so wonderful fried or hard boiled, of course, YMMV from mine
He… it does quack. But no eggs. Where the hell are my damn eggs!
If not quacking, what does a drake do?
They’re German planes, of course. Fokkers…
Alaska sounds good…
It’s the John Wayne of Ducks.
“A Duck’s gotta do what a Duck’s gotta do.”
Or maybe he’s doing an Eastwood movie, but he’s living the life, and doing it his way. You got to respect that. Some of us could learn from that. (Note for the record: That comment is not directed at the proprietor of this Blog or at myself, but there are a lot of folks out there who could benefit from some learning of that motto. Just saying.)
You need to cobble up some T-Shirts:
Be the Duck
The Tao of Duck
Chuck Norris fears the Duck
Like ’em all.
Duck obviously knows something we do not. Question is….is that something we ‘should’ know? In the wild, ducks do awesome things we never see.
Duck Zen. That works. 🙂
Time to get rid of that old Gadsden Flag rattlesnake, get Duck on a flag with the caption, “Don’t fuck with this Duck!”
Pingback: The Saga Of Bowling Pin Chicken | Adaptive Curmudgeon