I like ducks. I really do. In my life, there have been no reasons for me to dislike ducks. I think they taste good and I've enjoyed on more than one occasion the calming effects of tossing stale bread to ducks at the local ponds. Having said that, I'm afraid I must go on record and proclaim that ducks don't like the Coles at all.
That's a strange statement is not? The title of this blog post is, like that statement, extremely odd. I have no choice but to explain.
The first duck incident happened several years ago when my family and I traveled to Oregon for my brother's wedding. It was our first time in that part of the country and we enjoyed our stay, but on the way home we were faced with tragedy. Heidi was driving because I had just experienced a brush with the law in a small country town due to my excessive speeds (I think I was going 22 mph in a 20 mph zone) and was given a stern warning. Since obviously I was driving like a bat out of Hades, my wife took the wheel. As a side note, Heidi firmly believes she is a superior driver than me and loves to rub it in whenever the opportunity presents itself. It's annoying, but something I'm forced to live with forever. Oh well. As Heidi was driving, making sure to emphasize her perfect driving posture with her hands at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel and the cruise control set on the exact mileage of the speed limit, we crossed over into Idaho. I still vividly remember her cheers of joy because the speed limit increased to 75 mph. Heidi promptly stepped on the gas and our jeep surged forward just as a flock of ducks were rising into the air from a lake on the side of the road. It all happened so fast there wasn't much she could do and, as you could probably guess, we took out Donald. Heidi screamed, removed her hands from the wheel to shield her eyes, and I watched as the duck rolled up the windshield and vanished behind the swiftly traveling vehicle. She looked at me, her eyes wide in astonishment, her mouth ajar and gasping for air and demanded to know what just happened and what was it that she had hit. I quickly explained to her that it was an eagle and that she would probably be arrested for killing the national bird. My memory sometimes fails me, but I do believe I drove the rest of the way home.
Duck incident #2 - This happened yesterday morning. Our van was in the shop and the repairs were complete. Because I had work, we woke up the kids and got them ready for the day very early, so that I could drive Heidi and them to the dealership to pick up the van. When I walked out of the garage to scrape the windshield of my car I noticed some strange object by my front tire. It could've been a rolled up newspaper, or some other garbage, so I paid it no attention and started scraping. As I came around to the far side of the car I received a better look. The object was a giant duck. How big you ask? Well, at any moment, I expected the duck to sit up and sell me insurance. I warned Heidi not to bring out the kids until I had time to see to the burial of the duck and shoveled it into my dumpster. Now, I don't know how the duck ended up in front of my car. It's possible I hit it the night before. I had been out with some of the guys catching a movie and some food and we did just watch Clash of the Titans in 3D. Perhaps my eyes were still whirring on my drive home and I accidentally struck the duck somewhere on the road. But I don't think so. Honestly, where did this come from? The weather is still very cold and we don't live close to any ponds or lakes. I don't recall seeing many ducks waddling through my neighborhood. If it had been a seagull I would've understood. So many possibilities entered my mind that day. Was it some sort of mafia message? You know, like Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes. It happened on Easter's Eve. Am I now cursed for having slain the Easter Bunny's sidekick? What's with the ducks? I know there have been only 2 incidents, but I'm starting to worry about a possible conspiracy. Am I blowing this out of proportion?